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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

GIFT  OF 
Miss  Ruth  Markell 


CRITICAL,  HISTORICAL. 


AHD 


MISCELLANEOUS   ESSAYS, 


LORD  MACAULAY. 

WITH  A  MEMOIR  AND  INDEX. 

SIX  VOLUMES  IN  THRE*; 
VOLS.  III.  AND  iv 


NEW  YORK. 
A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON. 

"14  BKOADWAY. 


3 

1 


COPYRIGHT,  1860. 
By  SHELDON  AND  COMPANY. 


dtortoes  of  lorD 


ESSAYS 
TOL.IIL 


CONTENTS 


OF 


THE   THIRD   VOLUME. 


PAC« 

BGRLEIGH   AND    HIS   TIMES.      (Edinburgh  Review,  April 

1832.) 1 

MIRABEAU.     (Edinburgh  Review,  July  1832.)  37 

WAR  OF  THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.    (Edinburgh  Re- 
view, January  1833.)    ....                 ...  75 

HORACE  WALPOLE.     (Edinburgh  Review,  October  1833.)  143 

WILLIAM  PITT,  EARL   OF   CHATHAM.     (Edinburgh  Re- 
view, January  1834.)     .         .        .         .  . " •• .        .        .  194 

SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH.    (Edinburgh  Review,  July  1835.)  251 

LORD  BACON.     (Edinburgh  Review,  July  1837.)         .         .  38* 


CONTENTS 


THE  FOURTH  VOLUME. 


PiM 

SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.     (Edinburgh  Revieiv,  October  1838.)  1 

GLADSTONE    ON   CHURCH   AND    STATE.     (Eamburyh    Review, 

April  1839.) 115 

LORD  CLITE.     (Edinburgh  Revieiv,  January-  1840.)    .         .         .  194 

VON  RANKE.     (Edinburgh  Review,  October  1840.)     .        .        .  299 

LEIGH  HUNT.     (Edinburgh  Review,  January  1841.)  .         .         .  350 

LORD  HOLLAND.     (Edinburgh  Review,  July  1841.)     .         .         .  412 


ESSAYS. 

BURLEIGH  AND   HIS   TIMES.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  April,  1832.) 

THE  work  of  Dr.  Nares  has  filled  us  with  astonish- 
ment similar  to  that  which  Captain  Lemuel  Gullivei 
felt  when  he  first  landed  in  Brobdingnag,  and  saw 
corn  as  high  as  the  oaks  in  the  New  Forest,  thimbles 
as  large  as  buckets,  and  wrens  of  the  bulk  of  turkeys. 
The  whole  book,  and  every  component  part  of  it,  is 
on  a  gigantic  scale.  The  title  is  as  long  as  an  ordi- 
nary preface :  the  prefatory  matter  would  furnish  out 
an  ordinary  book;  and  the  book  contains  as  much 
reading  as  an  ordinary  library.  We  cannot  sum  up 
the  merits  of  the  stupendous  mass  of  paper  which  lies 
before  us  better  than  by  saying  that  it  consists  of 
about  two  thousand  closely  printed  quarto  pages,  that 
it  occupies  fifteen  hundred  inches  cubic  measure,  and 

1  Memoirs  of  the  Life  and  Administration  of  the  Right  Honourable  Wil 
tiam  Cecil  Lord  Burghley,  Secretary  of  State  in  the  Reign  of  King  Edward 
Oie  Sixth,  and  Lord  High  Treasurer  of  England  in  tiie  Reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Containing  an  Historical  }7ieio  of  tlie  Times  in  which  he  lined,  and 
of  the  many  eminent  and  illustrious  Persons  witli  whom  he  was  connected ; 
v/ith  Extracts  from  his  Private  and  Official  Correspondence  and  other 
Papers,  now  first  published  from  the  Originals.  By  the  Reverend  EDWABI! 
NARES,  D.  D.,  Regius  Professor  of  Modern  History  in  the  University  o4. 
Oxford.  3  vols.  4to.  London:  1828.  1S32. 

VOL.    HI.  1 


2  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

that  it  weighs  sixty  pounds  avoirdupois.  Such  a  book 
might,  before  the  deluge,  have  been  considered  as 
light  reading  by  Ililpa  and  Slialura.  But  unhappily 
the  life  of  man  is  now  threescore  years  and  ten  ;  and 
we  cannot  but  think  it  somewhat  unfair  in  Dr.  Nare3 
to  demand  from  u?  30  large  a  portion  of  so  short  an 
existence. 

Compared  with  the  labour  of  reading  through  these 
volumes,  all  other  labour,  the  labour  of  thieves  on 
the  treadmill,  of  children  in  factories,  of  negroes  in 
siigar  plantations,  is  an  agreeable  recreation.  There 
was,  it  is  said,  a  criminal  in  Italy,  who  was  suffered 
to  make  his  choice  between  Guicciardini  and  the  gal- 
leys. He  chose  the  history.  But  the  war  of  Pisa 
was  too  much  for  him.  He  changed  his  mind,  and 
went  to  the  oar.  Guicciardini,  though  certainly  not 
the  most  amusing  of  writers,  is  a  Herodotus  or  a  Frois- 
sa'rt,  when  compared  with  Dr.  Nares.  It  is  not  merely 
in  bulk,  but  in  specific  gravity  also,  that  these  memoirs 
exceed  all  other  human  compositions.  On  every  sub- 
ject which  the  Professor  discusses,  he  produces  three 
times  as  many  pages  as  another  man ;  and  one  of  his 
pages  is  as  tedious  as  another  man's  tliree.  His  book 
is  swelled  to  its  vast  dimensions  by  endless  repetitions, 
by  episodes  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  main 
action,  by  quotations  from  books  which  are  in  every 
circulating  library,  and  by  reflections  which,  when  they 
happen  to  be  just,  are  so  obvious  that  they  must  neces- 
sarily occur  to  the  mind  of  every  reader.  He  employs 
more  words  in  expounding  and  defending  a  truism  than 
any  other  writer  would  employ  in  supporting  a  para- 
dox. Of  the  rales  of  historical  perspective,  he  has  not 
the  faintest  notion.  There  is  neither  foreground  nor 
ackgroimd  in  his  delineation.  The  wars  of  Chsrles 


BURLEIGH   AND   HIS   TIMES.  3 

the  Fifth  in  Germany  are  detailed  at  almost  as  much 
tength  as  in  Robertson's  life  of  that  prince.  The 
troubles  of  Scotland  are  related  as  fully  as  in  M'Crie's 
Life  of  John  Knox.  It  would  be  most  unjust  to  deny 
that  Dr.  Nares  is  a  man  of  great  industry  and  research ; 
but  he  is  so  utterly  incompetent  to  arrange  the  ma- 
terials which  he  has  collected  that  he  might  as  "well 
have  left  them  in  their  original  repositories. 

Neither  the  facts  which  Dr.  Nares  has  discovered, 
nor  the  arguments  which  he  urges,  will,  \ve  aoprehend, 
materially  alter  the  opinion  generally  entertained  by 
judicious  readers  of  history  concerning  his  hero.  Lord 
Burleigh  can  hardly  be  called  a  great  man.  He  wag 
not  one  of  those  whose  genius  and  energy  change  the 
fate  of  empires.  He  was  by  nature  and  habit  one  of 
those  who  follow,  not  one  of  those  who  lead.  Nothinor 

'  O 

that  is  recorded,  either  of  his  words  or  of  his  actions, 
indicates  intellectual  or  moral  elevation.  But  his  tal- 
ents, though  not  brilliant,  we're  of  an  eminently  useful 
kind ;  and  his  principles,  though  not  inflexible,  were 
not  more  relaxed  than  those  of  his  associates  and  com- 
petitors. He  had  a  cool  temper,  a  sound  judgment, 
great  powers  of  application,  and  a  constant  eye  to  the 
main  chance.  In  his  youth,  he  was,  it  seems,  fond  of 
practical  jokes.  Yet  even  out  of  these  he  contrived 
to  extract  some  pecuniary  profit.  When  he  was  study- 
ing the  law  at  Gray's  Inn,  he  lost  all  his  furniture  and 
books  at  the  gaming  table  to  one  of  liis  friends.  He 
accordingly  bored  a  hole  hi  the  wall  which  separated 
his  chambers  from  those  of  his  associate,  and  at  mid- 
night bellowed  through  this  passage  threats  of  damna- 
tion and  calls  to  repentance  in  the  ears  of  the  victorious 
gambler,  who  lay  sweating  with  fear  all  night,  and  re- 
Smded  his  winnings  on  his  knees  next  day.  "  Many 


I  BURLEIGII  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

other  the  like  merry  jests,"  says  his  old  biographer,  "  1 
have  heard  him  tell,  too  long  to  be  here  noted."  To 
the  last,  Burleigh  was  somewhat  jocose  ;  and  some  of 
his  sportive  sayings  have  been  recorded  by  Bacon. 
They  show  much  more  shrewdness  than  generosity, 
and  are,  indeed,  neatly  expressed  reasons  for  exact- 
ing money  rigorously,  and  for  keeping  it  carefully. 
It  must,  however,  be  acknowledged  that  he  was  rigor- 
ous and  careful  for  the  public  advantage  as  well  as  for 
his  own.  To  extol  his  moral  character  as  Dr.  Nares 
has  extolled  it  is  absurd.  It  would  be  equally  absurd 
to  represent  him  as  a  corrupt,  rapacious,  and  bad- 
hearted  man.  He  paid  great  attention  to  the  interests 
of  the  state,  and  great  attention  also  to  the  interest  of 
his  own  family.  He  never  deserted  his  friends  till  it 
was  very  inconvenient  to  stand  by  them,  was  an  excel- 
lent Protestant  when  it  was  not  very  advantageous  to 
be  a  Papist,  recommended  a  tolerant  policy  to  his  mis- 
tress as  strongly  as  he  could  recommend  it  without 
hazarding  her  favour,  never  put  to  the  rack  any  person 
from  whom  it  did  not  seem  probable  that  useful  infor- 
mation might  be  derived,  and  was  so  moderate  in  his 
desires  that  he  left  only  three  hundred  distinct  landed 
estates,  though  he  might,  as  his  honest  servant  assures 
us,  have  left  much  more,  "  if  he  would  have  taken 
money  out  of  the  Exchequer  for  his  own  use,  as  many 
Treasurers  have  done." 

Burleigh,  like  the  old  Marquess  of  Winchester,  who 
preceded  him  in  the  custody  of  the  White  Staff,  was 
of  the  willow,  and  not  of  the  oak.  He  first  rose  into 
notice  by  defending  the  supremacy  of  Henry  the 
Eighth.  He  was  subsequently  favoured  and  promoted 
by  the  Duke  of  Somerset.  He  not  only  contrived  to 
escape  unhurt  when  his  patron  fell,  but  became  an  in> 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES.  5 

portant  member  of  tlie  administration  of  Northumber 
land.  Dr.  Nares  assures  us  over  and  over  again  that 
there  could  have  been  nothing  base  in  Cecil's  conduct 
on  this  occasion  ;  for,  says  he,  Cecil  continued  to  stand 
well  with  Cranmer.  This,  we  confess,  hardly  satisfies 
us.  We  are  much  of  the  mind  of  Falstaff's  tailor. 
We  must  have  better  assurance  for  Sir  John  than  Bar- 
dolph's.  We  like  not  the  security. 

Through  the  whole  course  of  that  miserable  intrigue 
which  was  carried  on  round  the  dying  bed  of  Edward 
the  Sixth,  Cecil  so  bemeaned  himself  as  to  avoid,  first, 
the  displeasure  of  Northumberland,  and  afterwards  the 
displeasure  of  Mary.  He  was  prudently  unwilling  to 
put  his  hand  to  the  instrument  which  changed  the 
course  of  the  succession.  But  the  furious  Dudley  was 
master  of  the  palace.  Cecil,  therefore,  according  to 
his  own  account,  excused  himself  from  signing  as  a 
party,  but  consented  to  sign  as  a  witness.  It  is  not 
easy  to  describe  his  dexterous  conduct  at  this  most  per- 
plexing crisis,  in  language  more  appropriate  than  that 
which  is  employed  by  old  Fuller.  "  His  hand  wrote  it 
as  secretary  of  state,"  says  that  quaint  writer  ;  "  but 
his  heart  consented  not  thereto.  Yea,  he  openly  op- 
posed it ;  though  at  last  yielding  to  the  greatness  of 
Northumberland,  in  an  age  when  it  was  present  drown- 
ing not  to  swim  with  the  stream.  But  as  the  philoso- 
pher tells  us,  that,  though  the  planets  be  whirled  about 
daily  from  east  to  west,  by  the  motion  of  the  primum 
mobile,  yet  have  they  also  a  contrary  proper  motion  of 
their  own  from  west  to  east,  which  they  slowly,  though 
surely,  move  at  their  leisure  ;  so  Cecil  had  secret  coun- 
ter-endeavours against  the  strain  of  tlie  court  herein, 
und  privately  advanced  his  rightful  intentions  against 
fhe  foresaid  duke's  ambition." 


6  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

This  was  undoubtedly  the  most  perilous  conjuncture 
of  Cecil's  life.  Wherever  there  was  a  safe  course,  he 
was  safe.  But  here  every  course  was  full  of  danger. 
His  situation  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  be  neu- 
tral. If  he  acted  on  either  side,  if  he  refused  to  act  at 
all,  he  ran  a  fearful  risk.  He  saw  all  the  difficulties 
of  his  position.  He  sent  his  money  and  plate  out  of 
London,  made  over  his  estates  to  his  son,  and  earned 
arms  about  his  person.  His  best  arms,  however,  were 
his  sagacity  and  his  self-command.  The  plot  in  which 
he  had  been  an  unwilling  accomplice  ended,  as  it  was 
natural  that  so  odious  and  absurd  a  plot  should  end,  in 
the  ruin  of  its  contrivers.  In  the  mean  time,  Cecil 
quietly  extricated  himself,  and,  having  been  succes- 
sively patronized  by  Henry,  by  Somerset,  and  by  Nor- 
thumberland, continued  to  flourish  under  the  protection 
of  Mary. 

He  had  no  aspirations  after  the  crown  of  martyrdom. 
He  confessed  himself,  therefore,  with  great  decorum, 
heard  mass  in  Wimbledon  Church  at  Easter,  and,  for 
the  better  ordering  of  his  spiritual  concerns,  took  a 
priest  into  his  house.  Dr.  Nares,  whose  simplicity 
passes  that  of  any  casuist  with  whom  we  are  acquainted, 
vindicates  his  hero  by  assuring  us  that  this  was  not 
superstition,  but  pure  unmixed  hypocrisy.  "  That  he 
did  in  some  manner  conform,  we  shall  not  be  able,  in 
the  face  of  existing  documents,  to  deny  ;  while  we  feel 
in  our  own  minds  abundantly  satisfied,  that,  during  this 
rery  trying  reign,  he  never  abandoned  the  prospect 
of  another  revolution  in  favour  of  Protestantism."  In 
another  place,  the  Doctor  tells  us,  that  Cecil  went  to 
tnass  "  with  no  idolatrous  intention."  Nobody,  we 
oelieve,  ever  accused  him  of  idolatrous  intentions. 
The  very  ground  of  the  charge  against  him  is  that  he 


BURLEIGU  A2sTD  HIS  TIMES.  7 

had  no  idolatrous  intentions.  We  never  shoula 
have  blamed  him  if  he  had  really  gone  to  Wimbledon 
Church,  with  the  feelings  of  a  good  Catholic,  to  wor- 
ship the  host.  Dr.  Nares  speaks  in  several  places  with 
just  severity  of  the  sophistry  of  the  Jesuits,  and  with 
just  admiration  of  the  incomparable  letters  of  Pascal. 
It  is  somewhat  strange,  therefore,  that  he  should  adopt, 
to  the  full  extent,  the  Jesuitical  doctrine  of  the  direc- 
tion of  intentions. 

We  do  not  blame  Cecil  for  not  choosing  to  be  burned. 
The  deep  stain  upon  liis  memory  is  that,  for  differ- 
ences of  opinion  for  which  he  would  risk  nothing  him- 
self, he,  in  the  day  of  his  power,  took  away  without 
scruple  the  lives  of  others.  One  of  the  excuses  sug- 
gested in  these  Memoirs  for  his  conforming,  coring  the 
reign  of  Mary,  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  is  that  lie 
may  have  been  of  the  same  mind  with  those  German 
Protestants  who  were  called  Adiaphorists,  and  who 
considered  the  popish  rites  as  matters  indifferent.  Me- 
lancthon  was  one  of  these  moderate  persons,  and  "  ap- 
pears," says  Dr.  Nares,  "  to  have  gone  greater  lengths 
than  any  imputed  to  Lord  Burleigli."  We  should 
have  thought  this  not  only  an  excuse,  but  a  complete 
vindication,  if  Cecil  had  been  an  Adiaphorist  for  the 
benefit  of  others  as  well  as  for  his  own.  If  the  popish 
rites  were  matters  of  so  little  moment  that  a  good  Prot- 
estant might  lawfully  practise  them  for  his  safety,  how 
could  it  be  just  or  humane  that  a  Papist  should  be 
hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  for  practising  them 
from  a  sense  of  duty  ?  Unhappily  these  non-essentiala 
soon  became  matters  of  life  and  death.  Just  at  the 
rcry  time  at  which  Cecil  attained  the  highest  point  of 
power  and  favour,  an  Act  of  Parliament  was  passed  by 
•vhich  the  penalties  of  high  treason  were  denounced 


8  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

against  persons  who  should  do  in  sincerity  what  he  had 
done  from  cowardice. 

Early  in  the  reign  of  Mary,  Cecil  was  employed  in 
a  mission  scarcely  consistent  with  the  character  of  a 
zeaious  Protestant.  He  was  sent  to  escort  the  Papal 
Legate,  Cardinal  Pole,  from  Brussels  to  London.  That 
great  body  of  moderate  persons  who  cared  more  for  the 
quiet  of  the  realm  than  for  the  controverted  points 
which  were  in  issue  between  the  Churches  seem  to 
have  placed  their  chief  hope  in  the  wisdom  and  hu- 
manity of  the  gentle  Cardinal.  Cecil,  it  is  clear,  cul- 
tivated the  friendship  of  Pole  with  great  assiduity,  and 
received  great  advantage  from  the  Legate's  protection. 

But  the  best  protection  of  Cecil,  during  the  gloomy 
and  disastrous  reign  of  Mary,  was  that  which  he  de- 
rived from  his  own  prudence  and  from  his  own  temper, 
a  prudence  which  could  never  be  lulled  into  careless- 
ness, a  temper  which  could  never  be  irritated  into  rash- 
ness. The  Papists  could  find  no  occasion  against  him. 
Yet  he  did  not  lose  the  esteem  even  of  those  sterner 
Protestants  who  had  preferred  exile  to  recantation. 
He  attached  himself  to  the  persecuted  heiress  of  the 
throne,  and  entitled  himself  to  her  gratitude  and  con- 
fidence. Yet  he  continued  to  receive  marks  of  favour 
from  the  Queen.  In  the  House  of  Commons,  he  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  party  opposed  to  the  Court. 
Yet,  so  guarded  was  his  language  that,  even  when 
some  of  those  who  acted  with  him  were  imprisoned 
by  the  Privy  Council,  he  escaped  with  impimity. 

At  length  Mary  died  :  Elizabeth  succeeded  ;  and 
Cecil  rose  at  once  to  greatness.  He  was  sworn  in 
Privy-councillor  and  Secretary  of  State  to  the  new 
sovereign  before  he  left  her  prison  of  Hatfield ;  and 
he  continued  to  serve  her  during  forty  years,  without 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES.  9 

intermission,  in  the  highest  employments.  His  abili- 
ties were  precisely  those  which  keep  men  long  in 
power.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  the  Walpoles, 
"the  Pelhams,  and  the  Liverpools,  not  to  that  of  the 
St.  Johns,  the  Carterets,  the  Chathams,  and  the  Can- 
nings. If  he  had  been  a  man  of  original  genius  and 
of  an  enterprising  spirit,  it  would  have  been  scarcely 
possible  for  him  to  keep  his  power  or  even  his  head. 
There  was  not  room  in  one  government  for  an  Eliza- 
beth and  a  Richelieu.  What  the  haughty  daughter 
of  Henry  needed,  was  a  moderate,  cautious,  flexible 
minister,  skilled  in  the  details  of  business,  competent 
to  advise,  but  not  aspiring  to  command.  And  such  a 
minister  she  found  in  Burleigh.  No  arts  could  shake 
the  confidence  which  she  reposed  in  her  old  and  trusty 
servant.  The  courtly  graces  of  Leicester,  the  bril- 
liant talents  and  accomplishments  of  Essex,  touched 
the  fancy,  perhaps  the  heart,  of  the  woman  ;  but  no 
rival  could  deprive  the  Treasurer  of  the  place  which 
he  possessed  in  the  favour  of  the  Queen.  She  some- 
times chid  him  sharply  ;  but  he  was  the  man  whom 
she  delighted  to  honour.  For  Burleigh,  she  forgot  her 
usual  parsimony  both  of  wealth  and  of  dignities.  For 
Burleigh,  she  relaxed  that  severe  etiquette  to  which 
she  was  unreasonably  attached.  Every  other  person  to 
whom  she  addressed  her  speech,  or  on  whom  the  glance 
of  her  eagle  eye  fell,  instantly  sank  on  his  knee.  For 
Burleigh  alone,  a  chair  was  set  in  her  presence ;  and 
there  the  old  minister,  by  birth  only  a  plain  Lincoln- 
shire esquire,  took  his  ease,  while  the  haughty  heirs  of 
the  Fitzalans  and  the  De  Veres  humbled  themselves  to 
the  dust  around  him.  At  length,  having  survived  all 
his  early  coadjutors,  and  rivals,  he  died  full  of  years 
and  honours.  His  royal  mistress  visited  him  on  his 


10  BUKLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

death-bed,  and  cheered  him  with  assurances  of  hat 
affection  and  esteem  ;  and  his  power  passed,  with  little 
diminution,  to  a  son  who  inherited  his  abilities,  and 
whose  mind  had  been  formed  by  his  counsels. 

The  life  of  Burleigh  was  commensurate  with  one 
of  the  most  important  periods  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  It  exactly  measures  the  time  during  which 
the  House  of  Austria  held  decided  superiority  and 
aspired  to  universal  dominion.  In  the  year  in  which 
Burleigh  was  born,  Charles  the  Fifth  obtained  the 
imperial  crown.  In  the  year  in  which  Burleigh  died, 
the  vast  designs  which  had,  during  near  a  century, 
kept  Europe  in  constant  agitation,  were  buried  in  the 
same  grave  with  the  proud  and  sullen  Philip. 

The  life  of  Burleigh  was  commensurate  also  with 
the  period  during  which  a  great  moral  revolution  was 
effected,  a  revolution  the  consequences  of  which  were 
felt,  not  only  in  the  cabinets  of  princes,  but  at  half 
the  firesides  in  Christendom.  He  was  born  when  the 
great  religious  schism  was  just  commencing.  He  lived 
to  see  that  schism,  complete,  and  to  see  a  line  of  de- 
marcation, which,  since  his  death,  has  been  very  little 
altered,  strongly  drawn  between  Protestant  and  Cath- 
olic Europe. 

The  only  event  of  modern  times  which  can  be 
properly  compared  with  the  Reformation  is  the  French 
Revolution,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  that  great 
revolution  of  political  feeling  which  took  place  in 
almost  every  part  of  the  civilised  world  during  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  which  obtained  in  France  its 

O  •>    ' 

most  terrible  and  signal  triumph.  Each  of  these 
memorable  events  may  be  described  as  a  rising  up  of 
the  human  reason  against  a  Caste.  Th<j  one  was  a 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES.  11 

straggle  of  the  laity  against  the  clergy  for  intelleetiia 
liberty ;  the  other  was  a  straggle  of  the  people  against 
princes  and  nobles  for  political  liberty.  In  both  cases, 
the  spirit  of  innovation  was  at  first  encouraged  by  the 
class  to  which  it  was  likely  to  be  most  prejudicial.  It 
was  under  the  patronage  -  of  Frederic,  of  Catherine, 
cf  Joseph,  and  of  the  grandees  of  France,  that  the 
philosophy  which  afterwards  threatened  all  the  thrones 
and  aristocracies  of  Europe  with  destruction  first  be- 
came formidable.  The  ardour  with  which  men  betook 
themselves  to  liberal  studies,  at  the  close  of  the  fif- 
teenth and  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
was  zealously  encouraged  by  the  heads  of  that  very 
church  to  which  liberal  studies  were  destined  to  be 
fatal.  In  both  cases,  when  the  explosion  came,  it 
came  with  a  violence  which  appalled  and  disgusted 
many  of  those  who  had  previously  been  distinguished 
by  the  freedom  of  their  opinions.  The  violence  of 
the  democratic  party  in  France  made  Burke  a  Tory 
and  Alfieri  a  courtier.  The  violence  of  the  chiefs 
of  the  German  schism  made  Erasmus  a  defender  of 
abuses,  and  turned  the  author  of  Utopia  into  a  per- 
secutor. In  both  cases,  the  convulsion  which  had 
overthrown  deeply  seated  errors,  shook  all  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  society  rests  to  their  very  foundations. 
The  minds  of  men  were  unsettled.  It  seemed  for  a 
time  that  all  order  and  morality  were  about  to  perish 
with  the  prejudices  with  which  they  had  been  long 
and  intimately  associated.  Frightful  cruelties  were 
committed.  Immense  masses  of  property  were  con- 
fiscated. Every  part  of  Europe  swarmed  with  exiles. 
In  moody  and  turbulent  spirits  zeal  soured  into  malig- 
nity, or  foamed  into  madness.  From  the  political  agi- 
tation of  the  eighteenth  century  sprang  the  Jacobins. 


12  BUKLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

From  tLe  religions  agitation  of  the  sixteenth  century 
sprang  the  Anabaptists.  The  partisans  of  Robespierre 
robbed  and  murdered  in  the  name  of  fraternity  and 
equality.  The  followers  of  Kniperdoling  robbed  and 
murdered  in  the  name  of  Christian  liberty.  .  The  feel- 
ing of  patriotism  was,  in  many  parts  of  Europe,  almost 
wholly  extinguished.  All  the  old  maxims  of  foreign 
policy  ^vere  changed.  Physical  boundaries  were  super- 
seded by  moral  boundaries.  Nations  made  war  on 
each  other  with  new  arms,  with  arms  which  no  forti- 
fications, however  strong  by  nature  or  by  art,  could 
resist,  with  arms  before  which  rivers  parted  like  the 
Jordan,  and  ramparts  fell  down  like  the  walls  of  Jeri- 
cho. The  great  masters  of  fleets  and  armies  were 
often  reduced  to  confess,  like  Milton's  warlike  angel, 
how  hard  they  found  it 

"  To  exclude 
Spiritual  substance  •with  corporeal  bar." 

Europe  was  divided,  as  Greece  had  been  divided 
during  the  period  concerning  which  Thucydides  wrote. 
The  conflict  was  not,  as  it  is  in  ordinary  times,  be- 
tween state  and  state,  but  between  two  omnipresent 
factions,  each  of  which  was  in  some  places  dominant 
and  in  other  places  oppressed,  but  which,  openly  or 
covertly,  carried  on  their  strife  in  the  bosom  of  every 
society.  No  man  asked  whether  another  belonged  to 

«/ 

the  same  country  with  himself,  but  whether  lie  be- 
longed to  the  same  sect.  Party-spirit  seemed  to  justify 
and  consecrate  acts  which,  in  any  other  times,  would 
have  been  considered  as  the  foulest  of  treasons.  The 
French  emigrant  saw  nothing  disgraceful  in  bringing 
Austrian  and  Prussian  hussars  to  Paris.  The  Irish  or 
Italian  democrat  saw  no  impropriety  in  serving  the 
Fiench  Directory  against  his  own  native  government 


BL'KLEIGn  AXD  HIS  TIMES.  13 

So,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  fury  of  theological 
factions  suspended  nil  national  animosities  and  jeal- 
ousies. The  Spaniards  were  invited  into  France  by 
the  League  ;  the  English  were  invited  into  France  by 
the  Huguenots. 

We  by  no  means  intend  to  underrate  or  to  palliate 
the  crimes  and  excesses  which,  during  the  last  genera- 
tion, were  produced  by  the  spirit  of  democracy.  But, 
when  we  hear  men  zealous  for  the  Protestant  religion, 
constantly  represent  the  French  Revolution  as  radically 
and  essentially  evil  on  account  of  those  crimes  and 
excesses,  we  cannot  but  remember  that  the  deliverance 
of  our  ancestors  from  the  house  of  their  spiritual  bond- 
age was  effected  "  by  plagues  and  by  signs,  by  wonders 
and  by  war."  We  cannot  but  remember  that,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  French  Revolution,  so  also  in  the  case 
of  the  Reformation,  those  who  rose  up  against  tyranny 
were  themselves  deeply  tainted  with  the  vices  which 
tyranny  engenders.  «..  We  cannot  but  remember  that 
libels  scarcely  less  scandalous  than  those  of  Hebert, 
mummeries  scarcely  tess  absurd  than  those  of  Clootz, 
and  crimes  scarcely  less  atrocious  than  those  of  Marat, 
disgrace  the  early  history  of  Protestantism.  The  Ref- 
ormation is  an  event  long  passed.  That  volcano  has 
spent  its  rage.  The  wide  waste  produced  by  its  6ut- 
break  is  forgotten.  The  landmarks  which  were  swept 
away  have  been  replaced.  The  ruined  edifices  have 
been  repaired.  The  lava  has  covered  with  a  rich 
incrustation  the  fields  which  it  once  devastated,  and, 
after  having  turned  a  beautiful  and  fruitful  garden  intc 
a  desert,  has  again  turned  the  desert  into  a  still  more 
beautiful  and  fruitful  garden.  The  second  great  irrup- 
tion is  not  yet  over.  The  marks  of  its  ravages  are 
still  all  around  us.  The  ashes  are  still  hot  beneath 


14  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

our  feet.  In  some  directions  the  deluge  of  fire  stil 
continues  to  spread.  Yet  experience  surely  entitles 
us  to  believe,  that  this  explosion,  like  that  which  pre- 
ceded it,  will  fertilize  the  soil  which  it  has  devastated. 
Already,  in  those  parts  which  have  suffered  most 
severely,  rich  cultivation  and  secure  dwellings  have 
begun  to  appear  amidst  the  waste.  The  more  we 
read  of  the  history  of  past  ages,  the  more  we  observe 
the  signs  of  our  own  times,  the  more  do  we  feel  our 
hearts  filled  and  swelled  up  by  a  good  hope  for  the 
future  destinies  of  the  human  race. 

The  history  of  the  Reformation  in  England  is  full  of 
strange  problems.  The  most  prominent  and  extraor- 
dinary phenomenon  which  it  presents  to  us  is  the 
gigantic  strength  of  the  government  contrasted  with 
the  feebleness  of  the  religious  parties.  During  the 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  which  followed  the  death  of 
Henry  the  Eighth,  the  religion  of  the  state  was  thrice 
changed.  Protestantism  was  established  by  Edward  ; 
the  Catholic  Church  was  restored  by  Mary ;  Prot- 
estantism was  again  established  by  Elizabeth.  The 
faith  of  the  nation  seemed  to  depend  on  the  personal 
inclinations  of  the  sovereign.  Nor  was  this  all.  An 
established  church  was  then,  as  a  matter  of  course,  a 
persecuting  church.  Edward  persecuted  Catholics. 
Mary  persecuted  Protestants.  Elizabeth  persecuted 
Catholics  again.  The  father  of  those  three  sovereigns 
had  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  persecuting  both  sects  at 
once,  and  had  sent  to  death,  on  the  same  hurdle,  the 
heretic  who  denied  the  real  presence,  and  the  traitor 
who  denied  the  royal  supremacy.  There  was  nothing 
in  England  like  that  fierce  and  bloody  opposition 
which,  in  France,  each  of  the  religious  factions  in  its 
tum  offered  to  the  government.  We  had  neither  a 


BUULEIGH  AND  HIS  TIJIES.  15 

Coligny  nor  a  Mayenne,  neither  a  Moucontour  nor  ar 
Ivry.  No  English  city  braved  sword  and  famine  for 
the  reformed  doctrines  with  the  spirit  of  Rochelle,  or 
for  the  Catholic  doctrines  with  the  spirit  of  Paris. 
Neither  sect  in  England  formed  a  League.  Neither 
sect  extorted  a  recantation  from  the  sovereign.  Nei- 
ther sect  could  obtain  from  an  adverse  sovereign  even 
a  toleration.  The  Eno-lish  Protestants,  after  several 

O  .        ' 

years  of  domination,  sank  down  with  scarcely  a  strug- 
gle under  the  tvrannv  of  Marv.  The  Catholics,  after 

«/  9,  «- 

having  regained  and  abused  their  old  ascendency, 
submitted  patiently  to  the  severe  rule  of  Elizabeth. 
Neither  Protestants  nor  Catholics  engaged  in  any 
great  and  well  organized  scheme  of  resistance.  A  few 
wild  and  tumultuous  risings,  suppressed  as  soon  as 
they  appeared,  a  few  dark  conspiracies  in  which  only 
a  small  number  of  desperate  men  engaged,  such  were 
the-  utmost  efforts  made  by  these  two  parties  to  assert 
the  most  sacred  of  human  rights,  attacked  by  the  most 
odious  tyranny. 

The  explanation  of  these  circumstances  which  has 
generally  been  given  is  very  simple,  but  by  no  means 
satisfactory.  The  power  of  the  crown,  it  is  said,  was 
then  at  its  height,  and  was  in  fact  despotic.  This 
solution,  we  own,  seems  to  us  to  be  no  solution  at  all. 
It  has  long  been  the  fashion,  a  fashion  introduced 
by  Mr.  Hume,  to  describe  the  English,  monarchy  in 
the  sixteenth  century  as  an  absolute  monarchy.  And 
such  undoubtedly  it  appears  to  a  superficial  observer. 
Elizabeth,  it  is  true,  often  spoke  to  her  parliaments  in 
language  as  haughty  and  imperious  as  that  which  the 
Great  Turk  would  use  to  his  divan.  She  punished  with 
great  severity  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  who, 
in  her  opinion,  carried  the  freedom  of  debate  too  far. 


1G  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

She  assumed  the  power  of  legislating  by  means  of  proo 
lamations.  She  imprisoned  her  subjects  without  bring- 
ing  them  to  a  legal  trial.  Torture  was  often  employed, 
in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  England,  for  the  purpose  of 
extorting  confessions  from  those  who  were  shut  up  in 
her  dungeons.  The  authority  of  the  Star-Chamber  and 
of  the  Ecclesiastical  Commission  was  at  its  highest  point. 
Severe  restraints  were  imposed  on  political  and  re- 
Ugious  discussion.  The  number  of  presses  was  at  one 
time  limited.  No  man  could  print  without  a  license  ; 
and  every  work  had  to  undergo  the  scrutiny  of  the 
Primate,  or  the  Bishop  of  London.  Persons  whose 
writings  were  displeasing  to  the  court  were  cruelly 
mutilated,  like  Stubbs,  or  put  to  death,  like  Penry. 
Nonconformity  was  severely  punished.  The  Queen 
prescribed  the  exact  rule  of  religious  faith  and  disci- 
pline ;  and  whoever  departed  from  that  rule,  either  to 
the  right  or  to  the  left,  was  in  danger  of  severe  penal- 
ties. 

Such  was  this  government.  Yet  we  know  that  it 
was  loved  by  the  great  body  of  those  who  lived  under 
it.  We  know  that,  during  the  fierce  contests  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  both  the  hostile  parties  spoke  of  the 
time  of  Elizabeth  as  of  a  golden  age.  That  great  Queen 
has  now  been  lying  two  hundred  and  thirty  years  in 
Henry  the  Seventh's  chapel.  Yet  her  memory  is  still 
dear  to  the  hearts  of  a  free  people. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that  the  government  of  the 
Tudors  was,  with  a  few  occasional  deviations,  a  popu- 
lar government,  under  the  forms  of  despotism.  At 
first  sight,  it  may  seem  that  the  prerogatives  of  Eliza- 
beth were  not  less  ample  than  those  of  Lewis  the  Four- 
teenth,' and  her  parliaments  were  as  obsequious  as  his 
parliaments,  that  her  warrant  had  as  much  authority  as 


BUELEIGII  AND  HIS   TIMES.  17 

nis  lettre-de-cachet.  The  extravagance  with  which  hel 
courtiers  eulogized  her  personal  and  mental  charms 
went  beyond  the  adulation  of  Boil  can  and  Moliere. 
Lewis  would  have  blushed  to  receive  from  those  who 
composed  the  gorgeous  circles  of  Marli  and  Versailles 
such  outward  marks  of  servitude  as  the  haughty  Brit- 
oness  exacted  of  all  who  approached  her.  But  the 
authority  of  Lewis  rested  on  the  support  of  his  army. 
The  authority  of  Elizabeth  rested  solely  on  the  support 
of  her  people.  Those  who  say  that  her  power  was 
absolute  do  not  sufficiently  consider  in  what  her  power 
consisted.  Her  power  consisted  in  the  willing  obedi- 
ence of  her  subjects,  in  their  attachment  to  her  person 
and  to  her  office,  in  their  respect  for  the  old  line  from 
which  she  sprang,  in  their  sense  of  the  general  security 
which  they  enjoyed  under  her  government.  These 
were  the  means,  and  the  only  means,  which  she  had  at 
her  command  for  carrying  her  decrees  into  execution,  for 
resisting  foreign  enemies,  and  for  crushing  domestic 
treason.  There  was  not  a  ward  in  the  city,  there  was 
not  a  hundred  in  any  shire  in  England,  which  could 
not  have  overpowered  the  handful  of  armed  men  who 
composed  her  household.  If  a  hostile  sovereign  threat- 
ened invasion,  if  an  ambitious  noble  raised  the  standard 
of  revolt,  she  could  have  recotu-se  only  to  the  train- 
bands of  her  capital  and  the  array  of  her  counties,  to 
the  citizens  and  yeomen  of  England,  commanded  by 
the  merchants  and  esquires  of  England. 

Thus,  when  intelligence  arrived  of  the  vast  prepara- 
tions which  Philip  was  making  for  the  subjugation  of 
the  realm,  the  first  person  to  whom  the  government 
thought  of  applying  for  assistance  was  the  Lord  Mayor 
of  London.  They  sent  to  ask  him  what  force  the  city 
would  engage  to  furnish  for  the  defence  of  the  kingdorc 


18  BURLEIGH  AXD  HIS  TIMES. 

against  the  Spaniards.  The  Mayor  and  Common 
Council,  in  return,  desired  to  know  what  force  the 
Queen's  Highness  wished  them  to  furnish.  The  an- 
swer was,  fifteen  ships  and  five  thousand  men.  The 
Londoners  deliberated  on  the  matter,  and,  two  days 
after,  "  humbly  entreated  the  council,  in  sign  of  their 
perfect  lore  and  loyalty  to  prince  and  country,  to 
accept  ten  thousand  men,  and  thirty  ships  amply  fur- 
nished." 

People  who  could  give  such  signs  as  these  of  their 
loyalty  were  by  no  means  to  be  misgoverned  with  im- 
punity. The  English  in  the  sixteenth  century  were. 
beyond  all  doubt,  a  free  people.  They  had  not,  indeed, 
the  outward  show  of  freedom  ;  but  they  had  the  reality. 
They  had  not  as  good  a  constitution  as  we  have ;  but 
they  had  that  without  which  the  best  constitution  is  as 
useless  as  the  king's  proclamation  against  vice  and  im- 
morality, that  which,  without  any  constitution,  keeps 
rulers  in  awe,  force,  and  the  spirit  to  use  it.  Parlia- 
ments, it  is  true,  were  rarely  held,  and  were  not  very 
respectfully  treated.  The  great  charter  was  often 
Tiolated.  But  the  people  had  a  security  against  gross 
and  systematic  misgovernment,  far  stronger  than  all 
'the  parchment  that  was  ever  marked  with  the  sign 
manual,  and  than  all  the  wax  that  was  ever  pressed  by 
the  great  seal. 

It  is  a  common  error  in  politics  to  confound  meana 
with  ends.  Constitutions,  charters,  petitions  of  right, 
declarations  of  right,  representative  assemblies,  electoral 
colleges,  are  not  good  governments  ;  nor  do  they,  even 
when  most  elaborately  constructed,  necessainly  produce 
good  government.  Laws  exist  in  vain  for  those  who 
haATe  not  the  courage  and  the  means  to  defend  them. 
Electors  meet  in  vain  where  want  makes  them  the 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS   TIMES.  19 

ilaves  of  the  landlord,  or  where  superstition  makes 
them  the  slaves  of  the  priest.  Representative  assem- 
blies sit  in  vain  unless  they  have  at  their  command,  in 
the  last  resort,  the  physical  power  which  is  necessary 
to  make  their  deliberations  free,  and  their  votes  effect- 
ual. 

The  Irish  are  better  represented  in  parliament  than 
the  Scotch,  who  indeed  are  not  represented  at  all.1 
But  are  the  Irish  Letter  governed  than  the  Scotch  ? 
Surely  not.  This  circumstance  has  of  late  been  used 
as  an  argument  against  reform.  It  proves  nothing 
against  reform.  It  proves  only  this,  that  laws  have 
no  magical,  no  supernatural  virtue  ;  that  laws  do  not 
act  like  Aladdin's  lamp  or  Prince  Ahmed's  apple  ;  that 
priestcraft,  that  ignorance,  that  the  rage  of  contending 
factions,  may  make  good  institutions  useless ;  that 
intelligence,  sobriety,  industry,  moral  freedom,  firm 
union,  may  supply  in  a  great  measure  the  defects  of 
the  worst  representative  system.  A  people  whose  edu- 
cation and  habits  are  such,  that,  in  every  quarter  of 
the  world,  they  rise  above  the  mass  of  those  with  Avhom 
they  mix,  as  surely  as  oil  rises  to  the  top  of  water,  a 
people  of  such  temper  and  self-government  that  the 
wildest  popular  excesses  recorded  in  their  history  par- 
take of  the  gravity  of  judicial  proceedings,  and  of  the 
solemnity  of  religious  rites,  a  people  whose  national 
^>ride  and  mutual  attachment  have  passed  into  a  prov- 
erb, a  people  whose  high  and  fierce  spirit,  so  forcibly 
described  in  the  haughty  motto  which  encircles  their 
thistle,  preserved  their  independence,  during  a  struggle 
of  centuries,  from  the  encroachments  of  wealthier  and 
more  powerful  neighbours,  such  a  people  cannot  be 

i  It  must  be  remembered  that  this  was  vrrltten  before  the  passing  of 
he  reform  act. 


20  BUBLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

long  oppressed.  Any  government,  however  consti- 
tuted, must  respect  tlieir  wishes  and  tremble  at  their 
discontents.  It  is  indeed  most  desirable  that  such  a  peo- 
ple should  exercise  a  direct  influence  on  the  conduct  of 
affairs,  and  should  make  their  wishes  known  through 
constitutional  organs.  But  some  influence,  direct  or 
indirect,  they  will  assuredly  possess.  Some  organ, 
constitutional  or  unconstitutional,  they  will  assuredly 
find.  They  will  be  better  governed  under  a  good  con- 
stitution than  under  a  bad  constitution.  But  they  will 
be  better  governed  under  the  worst  constitution  than 
some  other  nations  under  the  best.  In  any  general 
classification  of  constitutions,  the  constitution  of  Scot- 
land must  be  reckoned  as  one  of  the  worst,  perhaps  as 
the  worst,  in  Christian  Europe.  Yet  the  Scotch  are 
not  ill  governed,  and  the  reason  is  simply  that. they  will 
not  bear  to  be  ill  governed. 

In  some  of  the  oriental  monarchies,  in  Afghanistan 
for  example,  though  there  exists  nothing  which  an 
European  publicist  would  call  a  Constitution,  the  sov- 
ereign generally  governs  in  conformity  with  certain 
rules  established  for  the  public  benefit ;  and  the  sanc- 
tion of  those  rules  is,  that  every  Afghan  approves 
Ahem,  and  that  every  Afghan  is  a  soldier. 

The  monarchy  of  England  in  the  sixteenth  century 
was  a  monarchy  of  this  kind.  It  is  called  an  absolute 
monarchy,  because  little  respect  was  paid  by  the 
Tudors  to  those  institutions  which  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  consider  as  the  sole  checks  on  the  power  of 
ilie  sovereign.  A  modem  Englishman  can  hardly  un- 
derstand how  the  people  can  have  had  any  real  security 
for  good  government  under  kings  who  levied  benevo- 
lences, and  chid  the  House  of  Commons  as  they  would 
have  chid  a  pack  of  dogs.  People  do  not  sufficiently 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES.  21 

Consider  that,  though  the  legal  checks  were  feeble,  the 
natural  checks  were  strong.  There  was  one  great  and 
effectual  limitation  on  the  royal  authority,  the  knowl- 
edge that,  if  the  patience  of  the  nation  were  severely 
tried,  the  nation  would  put  forth  its  strength,  and  that 
its  strengtn  would  be  found  irresistible.  If  a  large 
body  of  Englishmen  became  thoroughly  discontented, 
instead  of  presenting  requisitions,  holding  large  meet- 
ings, passing  resolutions,  signing  petitions,  forming  as- 
sociations and  unions,  they  rose  up ;  they  took  their 
halberds  and  their  bows  ;  and,  if  the  sovereign  Avas  not 
sufficiently  popular  to  find  among  his  subjects  other 
halberds  and  other  bows  to  oppose  to  the  rebels,  noth- 
ing remained  for  him  but  a  repetition  of  the  horrible 
scenes  of  Berkeley  and  Pomfret.  He  had  no  regular 
army  which  could,  by  its  superior  arms  and  its  superior 
skill,  overawe  or  vanquish  the  sturdy  Commons  of  his 
realm,  abounding  in  the  native  hardihood  of  English- 
men, and  trained  in  the  simple  discipline  of  the  militia. 
It  has  been  said  that  the  Tudors  were  as  absolute  as 
the  Csesars.  Never  was  parallel  so  unfortunate.  The 
government  of  the  Tudors  was  the  direct  opposite  to 
the  government  of  Augustus  and  his  successors.  The 
Caesars  ruled  despotically,  by  means  of  a  great  stand- 
ing army,  under  the  decent  forms  of  a  republican 
Constitution.  They  called  themselves  citizens.  They 
mixed  unceremoniously  with  other  citizens.  In  theory 
they  were  only  the  elective  magistrates  of  a  free  com- 
monwealth. Instead  of  arrogating  to  themselves  des- 
potic power,  they  acknowledged  allegiance  to  the 
senate.  They  were  merely  th.3  lieutenants  of  that 
venerable  body.  They  mixed  in  debate.  They  even 
ippeared  as  advocates  before  the  courts  of  law.  Yet 
they  could  safely  indulge  in  the  wildest  freaks  o/ 


2S  BURLEIGH  AXD  HIS  TIMES. 

cruelty  and  rapacity,  while  their  legions  remained 
faithful.  Our  Tudors,  on  the  other  hand,  under  tlie 
titles  and  forms  of  monarchical  supremacy,  were  essen- 
tially popular  magistrates.  They  had  no  means  of 
protecting  themselves  against  the  public  hatred ;  and 
they  were'  therefore  compelled  to  court  the  public 
favour.  To  enjoy  all  the  state  and  all  the  personal 
indulgences  of  absolute  power,  to  be  adored  with 
Oriental  prostrations,  to  dispose  at  will  of  the  liberty 
and  even  of  the  life  of  ministers  and  courtiers,  this 
the  nation  granted  to  the  Tudors.  But  the  condition 
on  which  they  were  suffered  to  be  the  tyrants  of 
Whitehall  was  that  they  should  be  the  mild  and  pa- 
ternal sovereigns  of  England.  They  were  under  the 
same  restraints  with  regard  to  their  people  under  which 
a  military  despot  is  placed  with  regard  to  his  army. 
They  would  have  found  it  as  dangerous  to  grind  their 
subjects  with  cruel  taxation  as  Nero  would  have  found 
it  to  leave  his  praetorians  unpaid.  Those  who  imme- 
diately surrounded  the  royal  person,  and  engaged  in 
the  hazardous  game  of  ambition,  were  exposed  to  the 
most  fearful  dangers.  Buckingham,  Cromwell,  Sur- 
rey, Seymour  of  Sudeley,  Somerset,  Northumberland, 
Suffolk,  Norfolk,  Essex,  perished  on  the  scaffold.  But 
kn  general  the  country  gentleman  hunted  and  the 
merchant  traded  in  peace.  Even  Henry,  as  cruel 
as  Domitian,  but  far  more  politic,  contrived,  while 
i-eeking  with  the  blood  of  the  Lamia?,  to  be  a  favour- 
te  with  the  cobblers. 

The  Ttidors  committed  very  tyrannical  acts.  But 
L\  their  ordinary  dealings  with  the  people  they  were 
not,  and  could  not  safely  be,  tyrants.  Some  excesses 
were  easily  pardoned.  For  the  nation  was  proud  of 
Jie  high  and  fiery  blood  of  its  magnificent  rrinces,  ano 


BURLEIGH  AXD  HIS  TIMES.  23 

saw,  in  many  proceedings  which  a  lawyer  would  even 
ihen  have  condemned,  the  outbreak  of  the  same  noble 
spirit  which  so  manfully  hurled  foul  scorn  at  Parma 
and  at  Spain.  But  to  this  endurance  there  was  a 
limit.  If  the  government  ventured  to  adopt  measures 
which  the  people  really  felt  to  be  oppressive,  it  was 
soon  compelled  to  change  its  course.  When  Henry 
the  Eighth  attempted  to  raise  a  forced  loan  of  un- 
usual amount  by  proceedings  of  unusual  rigour,  the 
opposition  which  he  encountered  was  such  as  appalled 
even  his  stubborn  and  imperious  spirit.  The  people, 
we  are  told,  said  that,  if  they  were  treated  thus, 
"  then  were  it  worse  than  the  taxes  of  France ;  and 
England  should  be  bond,  and  not  free."  The  county 
of  Suffolk  rose  in  arms.  The  king  prudently  yielded 
to  an  opposition  which,  if  he  had  persisted,  would, 
in  all  probability,  have  taken  the  form  of  a  gen* 
oral  rebellion.  Towards  the  close  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  the  people  felt  themselves  aggrieved  by  the 
monopolies.  The  Queen,  proud  and  courageous  as  she 
was,  shrank  from  a  contest  with  the  nation,  and,  with 
admirable  sagacity,  conceded  all  that  her  subjects  had 
demanded,  while  it  was  yet  in  her  power  to  concede 
\vith  dignity  and  grace. 

It  cannot  be  imagined  that  a  people  who  had  in  their 
>wn  hands  the  means  of  checking  their  princes  would 
suffer  any  prince  to  impose  upon  them  a  religion  gen- 
erally detested.  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that,  if  the 
nation  had  been  decidedly  attached  to  the  Protestant 
faith,  Mary  could  have  reestablished  the  Papal  su- 
premacy. It  is  equally  absurd  to  suppose  that,  if  the 
.nation  had  been  zealous  for  the  ancient  religion,  Eliza- 
beth could  have  restored  the  Protestant  Church.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  people  were  not  disposed  to  engage  in 


24  BUELEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

a  struggle  either  for  the  new  or  for  the  old  doctrines. 
Abundance  of  spirit  was  shown  Avhen  it  seemed  likely 
that  Mary  would  resume  her  father's  grants  of  church 
property,  or  that  she  would  sacrifice  the  interests  of  Eng- 
land to  the  husband  whom  she  regarded  \vith  unmerited 

O 

tenderness.  That  queen  found  that  it  would  be  madness 
to  attempt  the  restoration  of  the  abbey  lands.  She 
found  that  her  subjects  would  never  suffer  her  to_rnake 
her  hereditary  kingdom  a  fief  of  Castile.  On  these 
points  she  encountered  a  steady  resistance,  and  was 
compelled  to  give  way.  If  she  was  able  to  establish 
the  Catholic  worship  and  to  persecute  those  who  would 
not  conform  to  it,  it  was  evidently  because  the  people 
cared  far  less  for  the  Protestant  religion  than  for  the 
rights  of  property  and  for  the  independence  of  the  Eng- 
lish crown.  In  plain  words,  they  did  not  think  the 
difference  between  the  hostile  sects  worth  a  struggle. 
There  was  undoubtedly  a  zealous  Protestant  party  and 
a  zealous  Catholic  party.  But  both  these  parties  were, 
we  believe,  very  small.  We  doiibt,  whether  both 
together  made  up,  at  the  time  of  Mary's  death,  the 
twentieth  part  of  the  nation.  The  remaining  nineteen 
twentieths  halted  between  the  two  opinions,  and  were 
not  disposed  to  risk  a  revolution  in  the  government,  foi 
the  purpose  of  giving  to  either  of  the  extreme  factions 
an  advantage  over  the  other. 

We  possess  no  data  which  will  enable  us  to  compart1 
with  exactness  the  force  of  the  two  sects.  Mr.  Butler 
Asserts  that,  even  at  the  accession  of  James  the  First, 
a  majority  of  the  population  of  England  were  Catholics. 
This  is  pure  assertion  ;  and  is  not  only  unsupported  by 
evidence,  but,  we  think,  completely  disproved  by  the 
strongest  evidence.  Dr.  Lingard  is  of  opinion  that  the 
Catholics  were  one  half  of  the  nation  in  the  middle  of 


BURLEIuIl  AND  HIS  TIMES.  25 

the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Rush  ton  says  that,  when 
Elizabeth  came  to  the  throne,  the  Catholics  were  two 
thirds  of  the  nation,  and  the  Protestants  only  one  third. 
The  most  judicious  and  impartial  of  English  historians, 
Mr.  Hallain,  is,  on 'the  contrary,  of  opinion,  that  two 
thirds  were  Protestants,  and  only  cue  third  Catholics. 
To  us,  we  must  confess,  it  seems  incredible  that,  if  the 
Protestants  weie  really  two  to  one,  they  should  have 
borne  the  government  of  Mary,  or  that,  if  the  Catho- 
lics were  really  two  to  one,  they  should  have  borne  the 
government  of  Elizabeth.  We  are  at  a  loss  to  conceive 
how  a  sovereign  who  has  no  standing  army,  and  whose 
power  rests  solely  on  the  loyalty  of  his  subjects,  can 
continue  for  years  to  persecute  a  religion  to  which  the 
majority  of  his  subjects  are  sincerely  attached.  In  fact, 
the  Protestants  did  rise  up  against  one  sister,  and  the 
Catholics  against  the  other.  Those  risings  clearly 
showed  how  small  and  feeble  both  the  parties  were. 
Both  in  the  one  case  and  in  the  other  the  nation  ranged 
itself  on  the  side  of  the  government,  and  the  insurgents 
were  speedily  put  down  and  punished.  The  Kentish 
gentlemen  who  took  up  arms  for  the  reformed  doctrines 
against  Mary,  and  the  great  Northern  Earls  who  dis- 
played the  banner  of  the  Five  Wounds  against  Eliza- 
beth, were  alike  considered  by  the  great  body  of  their 
countrymen  as  wicked  disturbers  of  the  public  peace. 

The  account  which  Cardinal  Bentivoglio  gave  of 
the  state  of  religion  in  England  well  deserves  consid- 
eration. The  zealous  Catholics  he  reckoned  at  one 
thirtieth  part  of  the  nation.  The  people  who  would 
without  the  least  scruple  become  Catholics,  if  the  Cath- 
olic religion  were  established,  he  estimated  at  four  fifths 
*f  the  nation.  We  believe  this  account  to  have  been 
rery  near  the  truth.  We  believe  that  the  people 


26  BUKLE1GH  AXD  HIS  TIMES. 

whose  minds  were  made  up  on  either  side,  who  \vef6 
inclined  to  make  any  sacrifice  or  run  any  risk  for 
either  religion,  were  very  few.  Each  side  had  a  few 
enterprising  champions,  and  a  few  stout-hearted  mar- 
tyrs ;  but  the  nation,  undetermined  in  its  opinions  and 
feelings,  resigned  itself  implicitly  to  the  guidance  of  the 
government,  and  lent  to  the  sovereign  for  the  time 
being  an  equally  ready  aid  against  either  of  the  ex- 
treme parties. 

We  are  very  far  from  saying  that  the  English  of 
that  generation  were  irreligious.  They  held  firmly 
those  doctrines  which  are  common  to  the  Catholic  and 
to  the  Protestant  theology.  But  they  had  no  fixed 
opinion  as  to  the  matters  in  dispute  between  the 
churches.  They  were  in  a  situation  resembling  that 
of  those  Borderers  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  de- 
scribed with  so  much  spirit, 

"  Who  sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 
In  England  and  in  Scotland  both." 

And  who 

"  Xine  times  outlawed  "had  been 
By  England's  king  and  Scotland's  queen." 

They  were  sometimes  Protestants,  sometimes  Catho- 
lics ;  sometimes  half  Protestants  half  Catholics. 

The  English  had  not,  for  ages,  been  bigoted  Papists. 
In  the  fourteenth  century,  the  first  and  perhaps  the 
greatest  of  the  reformers,  John  Wickliffe,  had  stirred 
the  public  mind  to  its  inmost  depths.  During  the 
game  century,  a  scandalous  schism  in  the  Catholic 
Church  had  diminished,  in  many  parts  of  Europe, 
the  reverence  in  which  the  Roman  pontiffs  were  held. 
It  is  clear  that,  a  hundred  years  before  the  time  of 
Luther,  a  great  party  in  this  kingdom  was  eager  foi 
%  change  at  least  as  extensive  as  that  which  was  sub- 


BURLEIGH  AXD  HIS  TIMES.  27 

scqucntly  effected  by  Henry  the  Eighth.  The  House 
of  Commons,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  pro- 
posed a  confiscation  of  ecclesiastical  property,  more 
sweeping  and  violent  even  than  that  which  took  place 
under  the  administration  of  Thomas  Cromwell ;  and, 
though  'defeated  in  this  attempt,  they  succeeded  in 
depriving  the  clerical  order  of  some  of  its  most  oppres- 
sive privileges.  The  splendid  conquests  of  Henry  the 
Fifth  turned  the  attention  of  the  nation  from  domestic 
reform.  The  Council  of  Constance  removed  some  of 
the  grossest  of  those  scandals  which  had  deprived  the 
Church  of  the  public  respect.  The  authority  of  that 
venerable  synod  propped  up  the  sinking  authority  of 
the  Popedom.  A  considerable  reaction  took  place. 
It  cannot,  however,  be  doubted,  that  there  was  still 
some  concealed  Lollardism  in  England  ;  or  that  many 
who  did  not  absolutely  dissent  from  any  doctrine  held 
by  the  Church  of  Rome  were  jealous  of  the  wealth 
and  power  enjoyed  by  her  ministers.  At  the  veiy  be- 
ginning of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  a  struggle 
took  place  between  the  clergy  and  the  courts  of  law, 
in  which  the  courts  of  law  remained  victorious.  One 
of  the  bishops,  on  that  occasion,  declared  that  the  com- 
mon people  entertained  the  strongest  prejudices  against 
his  order,  and  that  a  clergyman  had  no  chance  of  fair 
play  before  a  lay  tribunal.  The  London  juries,  he 
said,  entertained  such  a  spite  to  the  Church  that,  if 
Abel  were  a  priest,  they  would  find  him  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  Cain.  This  was  said  a  few  months  before 
the  time  when  Martin  Luther  began  to  preach  at  Wit- 
tenburg  against  indulgences. 

As  the  Reformation  did  mt  find  the  English  bigoted 

c™>  O 

Papists,  so  neither  was  it  conducted  in  such  a  manner 
\s  tc  make  them  zealous  Protestants.  It  was  not  undei 


28  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TDIES. 

the  direction  of  men  like  that  fiery  Saxon  who  swore 
that  he  would  go  to  Worms,  though  he  had  to  face  as 
many  devils  as  there  were  tiles  on  the  houses,  or  like 
that  brave  Switzer  who  was  struck  down  while  pray- 
ing in  front  of  the  ranks  of  Zurich.  No  preacher  of 
religion  had  the  same  power  here  which  Calvin  had  at 
Geneva  and  Knox  in  Scotland.  The  government  put 
itself  early  at  the  head  of  the  movement,  and  thus 
acquired  power  to  regulate,  and  occasionally  to  arrest, 
the  movement. 

To  many  persons  it  appears  extraordinary  that  Hemy 
the  Eighth  should  have  been  able  to  maintain  himself 
so  long  in  an  intermediate  position  between  the  Cath- 
olic and  Protestant  parties.  Most  extraordinary  it 
would  indeed  be,  if  we  were  to  suppose  that  the  nation 
consisted  of  none  but  decided  Catholics  and  decided 
Protestants.  The  fact  is  that  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  was  neither  Catholic  nor  Protestant,  but  was, 
like  its  sovereign,  midway  between  the  two  sects. 
Henry,  in  that  very  part  of  his  conduct  which  has 
been  represented  as  most  capricious  and  inconsistent, 
was  probably  following  a  policy  far  more  pleasing  to 
the  majority  of  his  subjects  than  a  policy  like  that  of 
Edward,  or  a  policy  like  that  of  Mary,  would  have 
been.  Down  even  to  the  very  close  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  the  people  were  in  a  state  somewhat  re- 
sembling that  in  which,  as  Machiavelli  says,  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  Roman  empire  were,  during  the  transition 
from  heathenism  to  Christianity ;  "  sendo  la  maggior 
parte  di  loro  incerti  a  quale  Dio  dovessero  ricorrere." 
They  were  generally,  we  think,  favourable  to  the  royal 
supremacy.  They  disliked  the  policy  of  the  Court  of 
Rome.  Their  spirit  rose  against  the  interference  of  a 
*breign  priest  with  then*  national  concerns.  The  buL 


BUELEIGH  AXD  HIS  TIMES.  29 

which  pronounced  sentence  of  deposition  against  Eliza- 
beth, the  plots  which  were  formed  against  her  life, 
the  usurpation  of  her  titles  by  the  Queen  of  Scotland, 
the  hostility  of  Philip,  excited  their  strongest  indigna- 
tion. The  cruelties  of  Bonner  were  remembered  with 
disgust.  Some  parts  of  the  new  system,  the  use  of  the 
English  language,  for  example,  in  public  worship,  and 
the  communion  in  both  kinds,  were  undoubtedly  popu- 
lar. On  the  other  hand,  the  early  lessons  of  the  nurse 
and  the  priest  were  not  forgotten.  The  ancient  cere- 
monies were  Ion*?  remembered  with  affectionate  rever- 

O 

ence.  A  large  portion  of  the  ancient  theology  lingered 
to  the  last  in  the  minds  which  had  been  imbued  with  it 
in  childhood. 

The  best  proof  that  the  religion  of  the  people  was  of 
this  mixed  kind  is  furnished  by  the  Drama  of  that  age. 
No  man  would  bring  unpopular  opinions  prominently 
forward  in  a  play  intended  for  representation.  And 
we  may  safely  conclude,  that  feelings  and  opinions 
which  pervade  the  whole  Dramatic  Literature  of  a 
generation,  are  feelings  and  opinions  of  which  the  men 
of  that  generation  generally  partook. 

The  greatest  and  most  popular  dramatists  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age  treat  religious  subjects  in  a  yery  remarkable 
manner.  They  speak  respectfully  of  the  fundamenta. 
doctrines  of  Christianity.  But  they  speak  neither  like 
Catholics  nor  like  Protestants,  but  like  persons  who 
are  wavering  between  the  two  systems,  or  who  have 
made  a  system  for  themselves  out  of  parts  selected  from 
both.  They  seem  to  hold  some  of  the  Romish  rites 
and  doctrines  in  high  respect.  They  treat  the  vow  of 
telibacy,  for  example,  so  tempting,  an'l,  in  later  times, 
10  common  a  subject  for  ribald:^*,  with  mysterious  rev- 
erence. Almost  every  member  of  a  religious  order 


30  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

whom  they  introduce  is  a  holy  and  venerable  man 
We  remember  in  their  plays  nothing  resembling  the 
coarse  ridicule  with  which  the  Catholic  religion  and 
its  ministers  were  assailed,  two  generations  later,  by 
dramatists,  who  wished  to  please  the  multitude.  We 
remember  no  Friar  Dominic,  no  Father  Foigard,  among 
the  characters  drawn  by  those  great  poets.  The  scene 
at  the  close  of  the  Knight  of  Malta  might  have  been 
written  by  a  fervent  Catholic.  Massinger  shows  a 
great  fondness  for  ecclesiastics  of  the  Romish  Church, 
and  has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  bring  a  virtuous  and 
interesting  Jesuit  on  the  stage.  Ford,  in  that  fine 
play  which  it  is  painful  to  read  and  scarcely  decent  to 
name,  assigns  a  highly  creditable  part  to  the  Friar. 
The  partiality  of  Shakspeare  for  Friars  is  well  known. 
In  Hamlet,  the  Ghost  complains  that  he  died  without 
extreme  unction,  and,  in  defiance  of  the  article  which 
condemns  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,  declares  that  lie  is 

"  Confined  to  fast  in  fires, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  his  days  of  nature, 
Are  burnt  and  purged  away." 

These  lines,  we  suspect,  would  have  raised  a  tremer 
dous  storm  in  the  theatre  at  any  time  during  the  reign 
of  Charles  the  Second.  They  were  clearly  not  written 
by  a  zealous  Protestant,  or  for  zealous  Protestants. 
Yet  the  author  of  King  John  and  Henry  the  Eighth 
was  surely  no  friend  to  papal  supremacy. 

There  is,  we  think,  only  one  solution  of  the  phe- 
nomena which  we  find  in  the  history  and  in  the  drama 
of  that  age.  The  religion  of  the  English  was  a  mixed 
religion,  like  that  of  the  Samaritan  settlers,  described 
n  the  second  book  of  Kings,  who  "  feared  the  Lord, 
ind  served  their  graven  images ; "  like  that  of  the 
/udaizing  Christians  who  blended  the  ceremonies  and 


BURLEIGH  AND  HIS   TIMES.  31 

doctrines  of  the  synagogue  \vitli  those  of  the  church ; 
like  that  of  the  Mexican  Indians,  who,  during  mairv 
generations  after  the  subjugation  of  their  race,  contin- 
ued to  unite  with  the  rites  learned  from  their  conquer- 
ors the  worship  of  the  grotesque  idols  which  had  been 
adored  by  Montezuma  and  Guatemozin. 

These  feelings  were  not  confined  to  the  populace, 
Elizabeth  herself  was  by  no  means  exempt  from  them, 
A  crucifix,  with  wax-lights  burning  round  it,  stood  in 
her  private  chapel.  She  always  spoke  with  disgust  and 
anger  of  the  marriage  of  priests.  "  I  was  in  horror," 
saj-s  Archbishop  Parker,  "  to  hear  such  words  to 
come  from  her  mild  nature  and  Christian  learned  con- 
science, as  she  spake  concerning  God's  holy  ordinance 
and  institution  of  matrimony."  Burleigh  prevailed  on 
her  to  connive  at  the  marriages  of  churchmen.  But 
bhe  would  only  connive  ;  and  the  children  sprung  from 
sucli  marriages  were  illegitimate  till  the  accession  of 
James  the  First. 

That  which  is,  as  we  have  said,  the  great  stain  on 
the  character  of  Burleigh  is  also  the  great  stain  on  the 
character  of  Elizabeth.  Being  herself  an  Adiaphorist, 
having  no  scruple  about  conforming  to  the  Romish 
Church  when  conformity  was  necessary  to  her  own 
safety,  retaining  to  the  last  moment  of  her  life  a  fond- 
ness for  much  of  the  doctrine  and  much  of  the  cere- 
monial of  that  church,  she  yet  subjected  that  church 
to  a  persecution  even  more  odious  than  the  persecution 
with  which  her  sister  had  harassed  the  Protestants. 
We  say  more  odious.  For  Mary  had  at  least  the  plea 
->f  fanaticism.  She  did  nothing  for  her  religion  which 
|he  was  not  prepared  to  suffer  for  it.  She  had  held  it 
firmly  under  persecution.  Sho  fully  believed  it  to  be 
essential  to  salvation.  If  she  burned  the  bodies  of  hei 


32  BURLEIGH  AND  HIS   TIMES. 

subjects,  it  was  in  order  to  rescue  their  souls.  Elizabeth 
had  no  such  pretext.  In  opinion,  she  was  little  more 
than  half  a  Protestant.  She  had  professed,  when  it 
suited  her,  to  be  wholly  a  Catholic.  There  is  an  ex- 
cuse, a  wretched  excuse,  for  the  massacres  of  Piedmont 
and  the  Autos  defe  of  Spain.  But  what  can  be  said 
in  defence  of  a  ruler  who  is  at  once  indifferent  and  in- 
tolerant ? 

If  the  great  Queen,  whose  memory  is  still  held  in 
just  veneration  by  Englishmen,  had  possessed  sufficient 
virtue  and  sufficient  enlargement  of  mind  to  adopt 
those  principles  which  More,  wiser  in  speculation  than 
in  action,  had  avowed  in  the  preceding  generation,  and 
by  which  the  excellent  LTIospital  regulated  his  con- 
duct in  her  own  time,  how  different  would  be  the  col- 
our of  the  whole  history  of  the  last  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  !  She  had  the  happiest  opportunity  ever 
vouchsafed  to  any  sovereign  of  establishing  perfect 
freedom  of  conscience  throughout  her  dominions,  with- 
out danger  to  her  government,  without  scandal  to  any 
large  party  among  her  subjects.  The  nation,  as  it  was 
clearly  ready  to  profess  either  religion,  would,  beyond 
all  doubt,  have  been  ready  to  tolerate  both.  Unhap- 
pily for  her  own  glory  and  for  the  public  peace,  she 
adopted  a  policy  from  the  effects  of  which  the  empire 
is  still  suffering.  The  yoke  of  the  Established  Church 
was  pressed  down  on  the  people  till  they  would  bear  it 
no  longer.  Then  a  reaction  came.  Another  reaction 
followed.  To  the  tyranny  of  the  establishment  suc- 
ceeded the  tumultuous  conflict  of  sects,  infuriated  by 
manifold  wrongs,  and  drunk  with  unwonted  freedom. 
To  the  conflict  of  sects  succeeded  again  the  cruel  domi- 
nation of  one  persecuting  church.  At  length  oppres- 
sion put  off  its  most  horrible  form,  and  took  a  mild^i 


BUELEIGH  AND  HIS   TIMES.  3S 

aspect.  The  penal  laws  which  had  been  framed  for  the 
protection  of  the  established  church  were  abolished. 
But  exclusions  and  disabilities  still  remained.  These 
exclusions  and  disabilities,  after  having  generated  the 
most  fearful  discontents,  after  having  rendered  all  gov- 
ernment in  one  part  of  the  kingdom  impossible,  after 
having  brought  the.  state  to  the  very  brink  of  ruin, 
have,  in  our  times,  been  removed,  but,  though  removed, 
have  left  behind  them  a  rankling  which  may  last  fcT 
many  years.  It  is  melancholy  to  think  with  what 
ease  Elizabeth  might  have  united  all  conflicting  sects 
under  the  shelter  of  the  same  impartial  laws  and  the 
same  paternal  throne,  and  thus  have  placed  the  nation 
in  the  same  situation,  as  far  as  the  rights  of  conscience 
are  concerned,  in  which  we  at  last  stand,  after  all  the 
heart-burnings,  the  persecutions,  the  conspiracies,  the 
seditions,  the  revolutions,  the  judicial  murders,  the 
civil  wars  of  ten  generations. 

This  is  the  dark  side  of  her  character.  Yet  she 
surely  was  a  great  woman.  Of  all  the  sovereigns  who 
exercised  a  power  which  was  seemingly  absolute,  but 
which  in  fact  depended  for  support 'on  the  love  and 
confidence  of  their  subjects,  she  was  by  far  the  most 
illustrious.  It  has  often  been  alleged  as  an  excuse  for 
the  misgovernment  of  her  successors  that  they  only 
followed  her  example,  that  precedents  might  be  found 
in  the  transactions  of  her  reign  for  perrecuting  the 
Puritans,  for  levying  money  without  the  sanction  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  for  confining  men  without 
bringing  them  to  trial,  for  interfering  with  the  liberty 
\)f  parliamentary  debate.  All  this  may  be  true.  But 
•t  is  no  good  plea  for  her  successors ;  and  for  this  plain 
>eason,  that  they  were  her  successors.  She  governed 
•>ne  generation,  they  governed  another  ;  and  between 


34  BURLEIGII  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

the  two  generations  there  was  almost  as  little  in  com- 
mon as  between  the  people  of  two  different  countries. 
It  was  not  by  looking  at  the  particular  measures  which 
Elizabeth  had  adopted,  but  by  looking  -at  the  great 
general  principles  of  her  government,  that  those  who 
followed  her  were  likely  to  learn  the  art  of  managing 
untractable  subjects.  If,  instead  of  searching  the  i  co- 
ords of  her  reign  for  precedents  which  might  seem  to 
vindicate  the  mutilation  of  Prynne  and  the  imprison- 
ment of  Eliot,  the  Stuarts  had  attempted  to  discover 
the  fundamental  rules  which  guided  her  conduct  in  all 
her  dealings  with  her  people,  they  would  have  per- 
ceived that  their  policy  was  then  most  unlike  to  hers, 
when  to  a  superficial  observer  it  would  have  seemed 
most  to  resemble  hers.  Firm,  haughty,  sometimes  un- 
just and  cruel  in  her  proceedings  towards  individuals 
or  towards  small  parties,  she  avoided  with  care,  or 
retracted  with  speed,  every  measure  which  seemed 
likely  to  alienate  the  great  mass  of  the  people.  She 
gained  more  honour  and  more  love  by  the  manner  in 
which  she  repaired  her  errors  than  she  would  have 
gained  by  never  committing  errors.  If  such  a  man  as 
Charles  the  First  had  been  in  her  place  when  the 
whole  nation  was  crying  out  against  the  monopolies, 
he  would  have  refused  all  redress.  He  would  have 
dissolved  the  Parliament,  and  imprisoned  the  most 
popular  members.  He  would  have  called  another 
Parliament.  He  would  have  given  some  vague  and 
delusive  promises  of  relief  in  return  for  subsidies. 
When  entreated  to  fulfil  his  promises,  he  would  have 
again  dissolved  the  Parliament,  and  again  imprisoned 
his  leading  opponents.  The  country  would  have  bs- 
come  more  agitated  than  before.  The  next  House  of 
Commons  would  have  been  more  unmanageable  than 


BURLEIGII  AND  HIS  TIMES.  3i) 

that  \vliicli  preceded  it.  The  tyrant  would  have 
agreed  to  all  that  the  nation  demanded.  He  would 
have  solemnly  ratified  an  act  abolishing  monopolies 
forever.  He  would  have  received  a  large  supply  in 
return  for  this  concession ;  and  within  half  a  year  ne'W 
patents,  more  oppressive  than  those  which  had  been 
cancelled,  would  have  been  issued  by  scores.  Such 
was  the  policy  which  brought  the  heir  of  a  long  Hue  of 
kings,  in  early  youth  the  darling  of  his  countrymen,  to 
a  prison  and  a  scaffold. 

Elizabeth,  before  the  House  of  Commons  could  ad- 
dress her,  took  out  of  their  mouths  the  words  which 
they  w"ere  about  to  utter  in  the  name  of  the  nation. 
Her  promises  went  beyond  their  desires.  Her  per- 
formance followed  close  upon  her  promise.  She  did 
not  treat  the  nation  as  an  adverse  party,  as  a  party 
which  had  an  interest  opposed  to  hers,  as  a  party  to 
which  she  was  to  grant  as  few  advantages  as  possible, 
and  from  which  she  was  to  extort  as  much  money  as 
possible.  Her  benefits  were  given,  not  sold;  and, 
when  once  given,  they  were  never  withdrawn.  She 
gave  them  too  with  a  frankness,  an  effusion  of  heart, 
a  princely  dignity,  a  motherly  tenderness,  which  en- 
hanced their  value.  They  were  received  by  the  sturdy 
country  gentlemen  who  had  come  up  to  Westminster 
full  of  resentment,  with  tears  of  joy,  and  shouts  of 
"  God  save  the  Queen."  Charles  the  First  gave  up 
half  the  prerogatives  of  his  crown  to  the  Commons ; 
and  the  Commons  sent  him  in  return  the  Grand  Re- 
monstrance. 

We  had  intended  to  say  something  concerning  that 
Hh  strious  group  of  which  Elizabeth  is  the  central  fig- 
are,  that  group  which  the  last  of  the  bards  saw  in  vision 
from  the  top  of  Snowdon,  encircling  the  Virgin  Queen, 


56  BUSLEIGII  AND  HIS  TIMES. 

"  Many  a  baron  bold, 
And  gorgeous  dames,  and  statesmen  old 
In  bearded  majesty." 

We  had  intended  to  say  something  concerning  the 
dexterous  Walsingham,  the  impetuous  Oxford,  the 
graceful  Sackville,  the  all-accomplished  Sydney;  con- 
cemino;  Essex,  the  ornament  of  the  court  and  of  tho 

O  '  . 

camp,  the  model  of  chivalry,  the  munificent  patron 
of  genius,  whom  great  virtues,  great  courage,  great 
talents,  the  favour  of  his  sovereign,  the  love  of  his 
countrymen,  all  that  seemed  to  ensure  a  happy  and 
glorious  life,  led  to  an  early  and  an  ignominious  death  ; 
concerning  Raleigh,  the  soldier,  the  sailor,  the  scholar, 
the  courtier,  the  orator,  the  poet,  the  historian,  the 
philosopher,  whom  we  picture  to  ourselves,  sometimes 
reviewing  the  Queen's  guard,  sometimes  giving  cliasp 
to  a  Spanish  galleon,  then  answering  the  chiefs  of  the 
country  party  in  the  House  of  Commons,  then  ajain 
murmuring  one  of  his  sweet  love-songs  too  near  the 
ears  of  her  Highness's  maids  of  honour,  and  joon 
after  pouring  over  the  Talmud,  or  collating  Polybius 
with  Livy.  We  had  intended  also  to  say  something 
concerning  the  literature  of  that  splendid  period,  and 
especially  concerning  those  two  incomparable  men,  the 
Prince  of  Poets,  and  the  Prince  of  Philosophers,  who 
have  made  the  Elizabethan  age  a  more  glorious  and 
important  era  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  than 
the  age  of  Pericles,  of  Augustus,  or  of  Leo.  But 
subjects  so  vast  require  a  space  far  larger  than  we  can 
at  present  afford.  We  therefore  stop  here,  fearing 
that,  if  we  proceed,  our  article  may  swell  to  a  bulk 
exceeding  that  of  all  other  reviews,  as  much  as  I> 

O  7 

Nares's  book  exceeds  the  bulk  of  all  other  histories. 


MIRABEAU.1 

(Ediiiburgh  Review,  July,  1832.) 

THIS  is  a  very  amusing  and  a  very  instructive  book; 
but,  even  if  it  were  less  amusing  and  less  instructive,  it 
would  still  be  interesting  as  a  relic  of  a  wise  and  virtu- 
ous man.  M.  Dumont  was  '  one  of  tliose  persons,  the 
care  of  whose  fame  belongs  in  an  especial  manner  to 
mankind.  For  he  was  one  of  those  persons  who  have, 
for  the  sake  of  mankind,  neglected  the  care  of  their 
own  fame.  In  his  walk  through  life  there  was  110  ob- 
trusiveness,  no  pushing,  no  elbowing,  none  of  the  little 
arts  which  bring  forward  little  men.  With  every  right 
to  the  head  of  the  board,  he  took  the  lowest  room,  and 
well  deserved  to  be  greeted  with  —  Friend,  go  up  higher. 
Though  no  man  was  more  capable  of  achieving  for  him- 
self a  separate  and  independent  renown,  he  attached 
himself  to  others  ;  he  laboured  to  raise  their  fame  ;  he 
was  content  to  receive  as  his  share  of  the  reward  the 
mere  overflowings  which  redounded  from  the  full 
measure  of  their  glory.  _Not  that  he  Avas  of  a  servile 
and  idolatrous  habit  of  mind  :  —  not  that  he  was  one  of 
the  tribe  of  Boswells,  —  those  literary  Gibeonites,  born 
to  be  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water  to  the 


irj  snr  Mirabeau,  et  fur  les  deux  Premieres  Assemblies  Legisla- 
tives. Par  KTIKNNE  DUMONT,  de  Geneve:  ouvrage  posthume  public1  pat 
A.  J.  L.  Duvnl,  Membrc  du  Conscil  Kepre'sentfUif  du  Canton  du  Geneve. 
8vo  Paris:  1832. 


88  MIRABEAU. 

higher  intellectual  castes.  Possessed  of  talents  and  ac 
quirements  which  made  him  great,  he  wished  only  tc 
be  useful.  In  the  prime  of  manhood,  at  the  very  time 
of  life  at  which  ambitious  mfcn  are  most  ambitious,  he 
was  not  solicitous  to  proclaim  that  he  furnished  informa- 
tion, arguments,  and  eloquence  to  Mirabeau.  In  his 
later  years  he  was  perfectly  willing  that  his  renown 
should  merge  in  that  of  Mr.  Bentham. 

The  services  which  M.  Dumont  has  rendered  to  so- 
ciety can  be  fully  appreciated  only  by  those  who  have 
studied  Mr.  Bentham's  works,  both  in  their  rude  and 
in  their  finished  state.  The  difference  both  for  show 
and  for  use  is  as  great  as  the  difference  between  a  lump 
of  golden  ore  and  a  rouleau  of  sovereigns  fresh  from 
the  mint.  Of  Mr.  Bentham  we  would  at  all  times 
speak  with  the  reverence  which  is  due  to  a  great  origi- 
nal thinker,  and  to  a  sincere  and  ardent  friend  of  the 
human  race.  If  a  few  weaknesses  Avere  mingled  with 
his  eminent  virtues, — if  a  few  errors  insinuated  them- 
selves among  the  many  valuable  truths  which  he 
taught,, —  this  is  assuredly  no  time  for  noticing  those 
weaknesses  or  those  errors  in  an  unkind  or  sarcastic 
spirit.  A  great  man  has  gone  from  among  us,  full  of 
years,  of  good  works,  and  of  deserved  honours.  In 
some  of  the  highest  departments  in  which  the  human 
intellect  can  exert  itself  he  has  not  left  his  equal  or  his 
second  behind  him.  From  his  contemporaries  he  has 
had,  according  to  the  usual  lot,  more  or  less  than  jus- 
tice. He  has  had  blind  flatterers  and  blind  detractors  — 
flatterers  who  could  see  nothing  but  perfection  in  his 
style,  detractors  who  could  see  nothing  but  nonsense  in 
his  matter.  He  will  now  have  judges.  Posterity  will 
pronounce  its  calm  and  impartial  decision  ;  and  that 
decision  will,  we  firmly  believe,  place  in  the  same  rank 


MIRABEAU.  39 

with  Galileo,  and  with  Locke,  the  man  who  found  juris- 
prudence a  gibberish  and  left  it  a  science.  Never  was 
there  a  literary  partnership  so  fortunate  as  that  of  Mr. 
Bentham  and  M.  Dumont.  The  raw  material  which 
Mr.  Bentham  furnished  was  most  precious ;  but  it  was 
unmarketable.  He  was,  assuredly,  at  once  a  great  lo- 
gician and  a  great  rhetorician.  But  the  effect  of  his  logic 
was  injured  by  a  vicious  arrangement,  and  the  effect  01 
his  rhetoric  by  a  vicious  style.  His  mind  was  vigorous, 
comprehensive,  subtle,  fertile  of  arguments,  fertile  of 
illustrations.  But  he  spoke  in  an  unknown  tongue ; 
and,  that  the  congregation  might  be  edified,  it  was 
necessaiy  that  some  brother  having  the  gift  of  interpre- 
tation should  expound  the  invaluable  jargon.  His 
oracles  were  of  high  import;  but  they  were  traced  on 
leaves  and  flung  loose  to  the  wind.  So  negligent  was 
he  of  the  arts  of  selection,  distribution,  and  compres- 
sion, that  to  persons  who  formed  their  judgment  of  him 
from  his  works  in  their  undigested  state  he  seemed  to 
be  the  least  systematic  of  all  philosophers.  The  truth 
is,  that  his  opinions  formed  a  system,  which,  whether 
sound  or  unsound,  is  more  exact,  more  entire,  and  more 
consistent  with  itself  than  any  other.  Yet  to  super- 
ficial readers  of  his  works  in  their  original  form,  and 
indeed  to  all  readers  of  those  works  who  did  not  bring 
great  industry  and  great  acuteness  to  the  study,  he 
seemed  to  be  a  man  of  a  quick  and  ingenious  but  ill- 
regulated  mind, — who  saw  truth  only  by  glimpses,  — 
who  threw  out  many  striking  hints,  but  who  had  never 
thought  of  combining  his  doctrines  in  one  harmonious 
whole. 

M.  Dumont  was  admirably  qualified  to  supply  what 
was  wanting  in  Mr.  Bentham.  In  the  qualities  in 
which  the  French  writers  surpass  those  of  all  other 


iO  MIRABEAU. 

nations,  —  neatness,  clearness,  precision,  condensation, 
— he  surpassed  all  French  writers.  If  M.  Dumont 
harl  never  been  born,  Mr.  Bentham  would  still  have 
been  a.  very  great  man.  But  he  would  have  been  great 
to  himself  alone.  The  fertility  of  his  mind  would  have 
resembled  the  fertility  of  those  vast  American  wilder- 
nesses in  which  blossoms  and  decays  a  rich  but  unprofi- 
table vegetation,  "  wherewith  the  reaper  filleth  not  his 
hand,  neither  he  that  bindeth  up  the  sheaves  his 
bosom."  It  would  have  been  with  his  discoveries  as 
it  has  been  with  the  "Century  of  Inventions."  His 
speculations  on  laAvs  Avould  have  been  of  no  more  prac- 
tical use  than  Lord  Worcester's  speculations  on  steam- 
engines.  Some  generations  hence,  perhaps,  when 
legislation  had  found  its  Watt,  an  antiquarian  might 
have  published ,  to-  the  world  the  curious  fact,  that,  in 
the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  there  had  been  a  man 
called  Bentham,  who  had  given  hints  of  many  discover- 
ies made  since  his  time,  and  who  had  really,  for  his 
age,  taken  a  most  philosophical  view  of  the  principles 
of  jurisprudence. 

Many  persons  have  attempted  to  interpret  between 
this  powerful  mind  and  the  public.  But,  in  our  opin- 
ion, M.  Dumont  alone  has  succeeded.  It  is  remarka- 
ble that,  in  foreign  countries,  where  Mr.  Bentham's 
works  are  known  solely  through  the  medium  of  the 
French  version,  his  merit  is  almost  universally  ac- 
knowledged. Even  those  who  are  most  decidedly 
opposed  to  his  political  opinions  —  the  very  chiefs  of 
the  Holy  Alliance  —  have  publicly  testified  their  re- 
spect for  him.  In  England,  on  the  contrary,  many 
persons  who  certainly  entertained  no  prejudice  against 
*iim  on  political  grounds  were  long  in  the  habit  of  men- 
tioning him  contemptuously.  Indeed,  what  was  sair, 


MIKABEAU.  41 

of  Bacon's  Philosophy  may  be  said  of  Benthara's.  It 
was  in  little  repute  among  us,  till  judgments  in  its 
favour  came  from  beyond  sea,  and  convinced  us,  to 
our  shame,  that  we  had  been  abusing  and  laughing  at 
one  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  age. 

M.  Dumont  might  easily  have  found  employments 
more  gratifying  to  personal  vanity  than  that  of  arrang- 
ing works  not  his  own.  But  he  could  have  found  no 
employment  more  useful  or  more  truly  honourable. 
The  book  before  us,  hastily  written  as  it  is,  contains 
abundant  proof,  if  proof  were  needed,  that  he  did  not 
become  an  editor  because  he  wanted  the  talents  which 
would  have  made  him  eminent  as  a  writer. 

Persons  who  hold  democratical  opinions,  and  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  consider  M.  Dumont  as  one 
of  their  party,  have  been  surprised  and  mortified  to 
learn  that  he  speaks  with  very  little  respect  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  of  its  authors.  Some  zealous 
Tories  have  naturally  expressed  great  satisfaction  at 
finding  their  doctrines,  in  some  respects,  confirmed  by 
the  testimony  of  an  unwilling  witness.  The  date  of 
the  work,  we  think,  explains  every  filing.  If  it  had 
been  written  ten  years  earlier,  or  twenty  years  later,  it 
would  have  been  very  different  from  what  it  is.  It 
was  written,  neither  during  the  first  excitement  of  the 
Revolution,  nor  at  that  later  period  when  the  practical 
good  produced  by  the  Revolution  had  become  manifest 
to  the  most  prejudiced  observers  ;  but  in  those  wretched 
times  when  the  enthusiasm  had  abated,  and  the  solid 
advantages  were  not  yet  fully  seen.  It  was  written  in 
the  year  1799,  —  a  year  in  which  the  most  sanguine 
friend  of  liberty  might  well  feel  some  misgivings  as  to 
the  effects  of  what  the  National  Assembly  had  done. 
The  evils  which  attend  every  great  change  had  been 


42  MIEABEAC. 

severely  felt.  The  benefit  was  still  to  come.  The 
price  —  a  heavy  price  —  had  been  paid.  The  thing 
purchased  had  not  yet  been  delivered.  Europe  was 
swarming  with  French  exiles.  The  fleets  and  armies  of 
the  second  coalition  were  victorious.  Within  France, 
the  reign  of  terror  was  over ;  but  the  reign  of  law 
had  not  commenced.  There  had  been,  indeed,  during 
three  or  four  years,  a  written  Constitution,  by  which 
rights  were  defined  and  checks  provided.  But  these 
rights  had  been  repeatedly  violated  ;  and  those  checks 
had  proved  utterly  inefficient.  The  laws  which  had 
been  framed  to  secure  the  distinct  authority  of  the  ex- 
ecutive magistrates  and  of  the  legislative  assemblies  — 
the  freedom  of  election  —  the  freedom  of  debate  —  the 
freedom  of  the  press  —  the  personal  freedom  of  citizens 
—  were  a  dead  letter.  The  ordinary  mode  in  which 
the  Republic  was  governed  was  by  coups  d'etat.  On 
one  occasion,  the  legislative  councils  were  placed  under 
military  restraint  by  the  directors.  Then,  again,  direc- 
tors were  deposed  by  the  legislative  councils.  Elec- 
tions were  set  aside  by  the  executive  authority.  Ship- 
loads of  writers,  and  speakers  were  sent,  without  a 
legal  trial,  to  die  of  fever  in  Guiana.  France,  in  short, 
was  in  that  state  in  wrhich  revolutions,  effected  by  vio- 
lence, almost  always  leave  a  nation.  The  habit  of 
obedience  had  been  lost.  The  spell  of  prescription 
had  been  broken.  Those  associations  on  which,  far 
more  than  on  any  arguments  about  property  and  order, 
the  authority  of  magistrates  rests  had  completely  passed 
away.  The  power  of  the  government  consisted  merely 
in  the  physical  force  which  it  could  bring  to  its  support. 
Moral  force  it  had  none.  It  was  itself  a  government 
sprung  from  a  recent  convulsion.  Its  own  funda- 
mental  maxim  was,  that  rebellion  might  be  justifiable. 


MIRABEAU.  43 

Its  own  existence  proved  that  rebellion  might  be  suc- 
cessful. The  people  had  been  accustomed,  during 
several  years,  to  offer  resistance  to  the  constituted  au- 
thorities on  the  slightest  provocation,  and  to  see  the 
constituted  authorities  yield  to  that  resistance.  The 
whole  political  world  was  "  without  form  and  void ''  — 
an  incessant  whirl  of  hostile  atoms,  which,  every  mo- 
ment, formed  some  neAv  combination.  The  only  man 
who  could  fix  the  agitated  elements  of  society  in  a 
stable  form  was  following  -a  wild  vision  of  glory  and 
empire  through  the  Syrian  deserts.  The  time  was  not 
yet  come,  when 

"  Confusion  heard  his  voice ;  and  wild  uproar 
Stood  ruled: " 

when,  out  of  the  chaos  into  which  the  old  society  had 
been  resolved,  were  to  rise  a  new  dynasty,  a  new 
peerage,  a  new  church,  and  a  new  code. 

The  dying  words  of  Madame  Roland,  "  Oh  Liberty ! 
how  many  crimes  are  committed  in  thy  name !  "  were 
at  that  time  echoed  by  many  of  the  most  upright  and 
benevolent  of  mankind.  M.  Gui/ot  has,  in  one  of  his 
admirable  pamphlets,  happily  and  justly  described  M. 
Laine  as  "  an  honest  and  liberal  man  discouraged  by 
the  Revolution."  This  description,  at  the  time  when 
M.  Dumont's  Memoirs  were  written,  would  have 
applied  to  almost  every  honest  and  liberal  man  in  Eu- 
rope ;  and  would,  beyond  all  doubt,  have  applied  to 
M.  Dumont  himself.  To  that  fanatical  worship  of  the 
all-wise  and  all-good  people,  which  had  been  common 
i  few  years  before,  had  succeeded  an  uneasy  suspicion 
that  the  follies  and  vices  of  the  people  would  frustrate 
all  attempts  to  serve  them.  The  wild  und  joyous 
exultation  with  which  the  meeting  of  the  States-Gen- 


14  MffiABEAU. 

eral  and  the  fall  of  the  Bastile  had  been  hailed,  had 
passed  away.  In  its  place  was  dejection,  and  a  gloomy 
distrust  of  specious  appearances.  The  philosophers 
and  philanthropists  had  reigned.  And  what  had  their 
reign  produced  ?  Philosophy  had  brought  with  it 
mummeries  as  absurd  as  any  which  had  byen  practised 
by  the  most  superstitious  zealot  of  the  darkest  age. 
Philanthropy  had  brought  with  it  crimes  as  horrible 
as  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  This  was  the 
emancipation  of  the  human  mind.  These  were  the 
fruits  of  the  great  victory  of  reason  over  prejudice. 
France  had  rejected  the  faith  of  Pascal  and  Descartes 
as  a  nursery  fable,  that  a  courtezan  might  be  her  idol, 
and  a  madman  her  priest.  She  had  asserted  her  free- 
dom against  Louis,  that  she  might  bow  down  before 
Robespierre.  For  a  time  men  thought  that  all  the 
boasted  wisdom  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  folly ; 
and  that  those  hopes  of  great  political  and  social  amelio- 
rations which  had  been  cherished  by  Voltaire  and 
Condorcet  were  utterly  delusive. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  M.  Dumont 
has  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  writings  of  Mr. 
Burke  on  the  French  Revolution,  though  disfigured 
by  exaggeration,  and  though  containing  doctrines  sub- 
versive of  all  public  liberty,  had  been,  on  the  whole, 
justified  by  events,  and  had  probably  saved  Europe 
from  great  disasters.  That  such  a  man  as  the  friend 
and  fellow-labourer  of  Mr.  Bentham  should  have  ex- 
pressed such  an  opinion  is  a  circumstance  which  well 
deserves  the  consideration  of  unchai'itable  politicians. 
These  Memoirs  have  not  convinced  us  that  the  French 
Revolution  was  not  a  great  blessing  to  mankind.  But 
they  have  convinced  us  that  very  great  indulgence  is 
due  to  those  who,  while  the  Revolution  was  actually 


MIRABEAU.  45 

taking  place,  regarded  it  with  unmixed  aversion,  and 
horror.  We  can  perceive  where  their  error  lay.  We 
can  perceive  that  the  evil  was  temporary,  and  the  good 
durable.  But  we  cannot  be  sure  that,  if  our  lot  had 
been  cast  in  their  times,  we  should  not,  like  them,  have 
been  discouraged  and  disgusted  —  that  we  should  not, 
like  them,  have  seen,  in  that  great  victory  of  the 
French  people,  only  insanity  and  crime. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  some  men  are  applauded, 
and  others  reviled,  for  merely  being  what  all  their  neigh- 
bours are, — for  merely  going  passively  down  the  stream 
of  events,  —  for  merely  representing  the  opinions  and 
passions  of  a  whole  generation.  The  friends  of  popu- 
lar government  ordinarily  speak  with  extreme  severity 
of  Mr.  Pitt,  and  with  respect  and  tenderness  of  Mr. 
Canning.  Yet  the  whole  difference,  we  suspect,  con- 
sisted merely  in  this,  —  that  Mr.  Pitt  died  in  1806, 
and  Mr.  Canning  in  1827.  During  the  years  which 
were  common  to  the  public  life  of  both,  Mr.  Canning 
jvas  assuredly  .not  a  more  liberal  statesman  than  his 
patron.  The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Pitt  began  his  political 
life  at  the  end  of  the  American  War,  when  the  nation 
was  suffering  from  the  effects  of  corruption.  He  closed 
it  in  the  midst  of  the  calamities  produced  by  the  French 
devolution,  when  the  nation  was  still  strongly  impressed 
with  the  horrors  of  anarchy.  He  changed,  undoubt- 
edly. In  his  youth  he  had  brought  in  reform  bills. 
In  his  manhood  he  brought  in  gagging  bills.  But  the 
change,  though  lamentable,  was,  in  our  opinion,  per- 
fectly natural,  and  might  have  been  perfectly  honest, 
lie  changed  with  the  great  body  of  his  countrymen. 
Mr.  Canning,  on  the  other  hand,  entered  into  piiblic 
ife  when  Europe  was  in  dread  of  the  Jacobins.  He 
llosed  his  public  life  when  Europe  was  suffering  under 


i6  MIRABEAU. 

die  tyranny  of  die  Holy  Alliance.  He,  too,  changed  >  ith 
the  nation.  As  the  crimes  of  the  Jacobins  had  turned 
the  master  into  something  very  like  a  Tory,  the  events 
which  followed  the  Congress  of  Vienna  turned  the  pu- 
pil into  something  very  like  a  Whig. 

So  much  are  men  the ,  creatures  of  circumstances. 
We  see  that,  if  M.  Dumont  had  died  in  1799,  he  would 
have  died,  to  use  the  new  cant  word,  a  decided  "  Con- 
servative." If  Mr.  Pitt  had  lived  in  1832,  it  is  our 
firm  belief  that  he  would  have  been  a  decided  Reformer. 

The  judgment  passed  by  M.  Dumont  in  this  work 
on  the  French  Revolution  must  be  taken  with  consid- 
erable allowances.  It  resembles  a  criticism  on  a  play  of 
which  only  the  first  act  has  been  performed,  or  on  a 
building  from  which  the  scaffolding  has  not  yet  been 
taken  down.  We  have  no  doubt  that,  if  the  excellent 
author  had  revised  these  memoirs  thirty  years  after  the 
time  at  which  they  were  written,  he  would  have  seen 
reason  to  omit  a  few  passages,  and  to  add  many  quali- 
fications and  explanations. 

He  would  not  probably  have  been  inclined  to  retract 
the  censures,  just,  though  severe,  which  he  has  passed 
on  the  ignorance,  the  presumption,  and  the  pedantry, 
of  the  National  Assembly.  But  he  would  have  admitted 
that,  in  spite  of  those  faults,  perhaps  even  by  reason  of 
those  faults,  that  Assembly  had  conferred  inestimable 
benefits  on  mankind.  It  is  clear  that,  among  the 
French  of  that  day,  political  knowledge  was  absolutely 
in  its  infancy.  It  would  indeed  have  been  strange  if  it 
,iad  attained  maturity  in  the  time  of  censors,  of  lettres- 
d&-cachet,  and  of  beds  of  justice.  The  electors  did  not 
know  how  to  elect.  The  representatives  did  not  know 
how  to  deliberate.  M.  Dumont  taught  the  constituent 
body  of  Montreuil  how  to  perform  their  functions,  ana 


MIRABEAU.  47 

found  them  apt  to  learn.  He  afterwards  tried,  in  con- 
cert with  Mirabeau,  to  instruct  the  National  Assembly 
in  that  admirable  system  of  Parliamentary  tactics  which 
has  been  long  established  in  the  English  House  of  Com 
inons,  and  which  has  made  the  House  of  Commons,  in 
spite  of  all  the  defects  in  its  composition,  the  best  and 
fairest  debating  society  in  the  world.  But  these  ac- 
complished legislators,  though  quite  as  igrsorant  as  the 
mob  of  Montreuil,  proved  much  less  docile,  and  cried 
out  that  they  did  not  want  to  go  to  school  to  the  Eng- 
lish. Their  debates  consisted  of  endless  successions  of 
trashy  pamphlets,  all  beginning  with  something  about 
the  original  compact  of  society,  man  in  the  hunting 
state,  and  other  such  foolery.  They  sometimes  diver- 
sified and  enlivened  these  long  readings  by  a  little  riot- 
ing. They  bawled ;  they  hooted  ;  they  shook  their 
fists.  They  kept  no  order  among  themselves.  They 
were  insulted  with  impunity  by  the  crowd  which  filled 
their  galleries.  They  gave  long  and  solemn  considera- 
tions to  trifles.  They  hurried  tlirough  the  most  impor- 
tant resolutions  with  fearful  expedition.  They  wasted 
months  in  quibbling  about  the  words  of  that  false  and 
childish  Declaration  of  Rights  on  which  they  professed 
to  found  their  new  constitution,  and  which  was  at 
irreconcilable  variance  with  every  clause  of  that  con- 
utitution.  They  annihilated  in  a  single  night  privileges, 
many  of  which  partook  of  the  nature  of  property,  and 
ought  therefore  to  have  been  most  delicately  handled. 
They  are  called  the  Constituent  Assembly.  Never 
was  a  name  less  appropriate.  They  were  not  con- 
stituent, but  the  very  reverse  of  constituent.  They 
constituted  nothing  that  stood  or  that  deserved  to  last. 
They  had  not,  and  they  could  not  possibly  have,  the 
information  or  the  habits  of  mind  which  are  necessary 


48  MIRABEAU. 

for  the  framing  of  that  most  exquisite  of  all  machines 

—  a  government.     The  metaphysical  cant  with  which 
they  prefaced  their  constitution  has  long  been  the  scoff 
of  all  parties.     Their  constitution  itself,  —  that  constitu- 
tion which  they  described  as  absolutely  perfect,  and  to 
which  they  predicted  immortality,  —  disappeared  in  a 
few  months,  and  left  no  trace  behind  it.     They  were 
great  only  in  the  work  of  destruction. 

The  glory  of  the  National  Assembly  is  this,  that 
they  were  in  truth,  what  Mr.  Burke  called  them  in 
austere  irony,  the  ablest  architects  of  ruin  that  ever 
the  world  saw.  They  were  utterly  incompetent  to 
perform  any  work  which  required  a  discriminating  eye 
and  a  skilful  hand.  But  the  work  which  was  then  to 
be  done  was  a  work  of  devastation.  They  had  to  deal 
with  abuses  so  horrible  and  so  deeply  rooted  that  the 
highest  political  wisdom  could  scarcely  have  produced 
greater  good  to  mankind  than  was  produced  by  their 
fierce  and  senseless  temerity.  Demolition  is  undoubt- 
edly a  vulgar  task ;  the  highest  glory  of  the  statesman 
is  to  construct.  But  there  is  a  time  for  every  thing, 

—  a  time  to  set  up,  and  a  time  to  pull  down.     The 
talents  of  revolutionary  leaders  and  those  of  the  legis- 
lator have  equally  their  use  and  their  season.     It  is 
the  natural,  the  almost  universal,  law,  that  the  age  of 
insurrections,  and  proscriptions  shall  precede  the  age 
of  good  government,  of  temperate  liberty,  and  liberal 
order. 

And  how  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  It  is  not  in 
swaddling-bands  that  we  learn  to  walk.  It  is  not  in 
the  dark  that  we  learn  to  distinguish  colours.  It  is  not 
;jider  oppression  that  we  learn  how  to  use  freedom. 
The  ordinary  sophism  by  which  misrule  is  defended  is, 
when  truly  stated,  this:  —  The  people  must  continue 


MIRABEAU.  49 

>n  slavery,  because  slavery  has  generated  in  them  all 
the  vices  of  slaves.  Because  they  are  ignorant,  they 
must  remain  under  Ik  power  which  has  made  and  which 
keeps  them  ignorant.  Because  they  have  been  made 
ferocious  by  misgovernment,  they  must  be  misgoverned 
for  ever.  If  the  system  under  which  they  live  were 
BO  mild  and  liberal  that  under  its  operation  they  had 
become  humane  and  enlightened,  it  would  be  safe  to 
venture  on  a  change.  But,  as  this  system  has  de- 
stroyed morality,  and  prevented  the  development  of 
the  intellect,  —  as  it  has  turned  men,  who  might  under 
different  training  have  formed  a  virtuous  and  happy 
community,  into  savage  and  stupid  wild  beasts, — 
therefore  it  ought  to  last  for  ever.  The  English 
Revolution,  it  is  said,  was  truly  a  glorious  Revolution. 
Practical  evils  were  redressed ;  no  excesses  were  com- 
mitted ;  no  sweeping  confiscations  took  place ;  the 
authority  of  the  laws  was  scarcely  for  a  moment 
suspended  ;  the  fullest  and  freest  discussion  was  tol- 
erated in  Parliament ;  the  nation  showed,  by  the  calm 
and  temperate  manner  in  which  it  asserted  its  liberty, 
that  it  was  fit  to  enjoy  liberty.  The  French  Revolu- 
tion was,  on  the  other  hand,  the  most  horrible  event 
recorded  in  history,  —  all  madness  and  wickedness,  — 
absurdity  in  theory,  and  atrocity  in  practice.  What 
folly  and  injustice  in  the  revolutionary  laws  !  What 
grotesque  affectation  in  the  revolutionary  ceremonies ! 
What  fanaticism !  What  licentiousness !  What  cruelty ! 
Anacharsis  Clootz  and  Marat,  —  feasts  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  and  marriages  of  the  Loire — trees  of  liberty, 
jmd  hsads  dancing  on  pikes  —  the  whole  forms  a  kind 
pf  infernal  farce,  made  up  of  every  thing  ridiculous,  and 
«\ery  thing  frightful.  This  it  is  to  give  freedom  to 
those  who  have  neither  wisdom  nor  virtue. 


50  MIBABEAC. 

It  is  not,  only  by  bad  men  interested  in  the  defence 
of  abuses  that  arguments  like  these  have  been  urged 
against  all  schemes  of  political  imp/ovement.  Some  of 
the  highest  and  purest  of  human  beings  conceived  such 
scorn  and  aversion  for  the  follies  and  crimes  of  the 
French  Revolution  that  they  recanted,  in  the  moment 
of  triumph,  those  liberal  opinions  to  which  they  had 
clung  in  defiance  of  persecution.  And,  if  we  inquire 
why  it  was  that  they  began  to  doubt  whether  liberty 
were  a  blessing,  we  shall  find  that  it  was  only  because 
events  had  proved,  in  the  clearest  manner,  that  liberty 
is  the  parent  of  virtue  and  of  order.  They  ceased  to 
abhor  tyranny  merely  because  it  had  been  signally 
shown  that  the  effect  of  tyranny  on  the  hearts  and 
understandings  of  men  is  more  demoralising  and  more 
stupifying  than  had  ever  been  imagined  by  the  most 
zealous  friend  of  moral  rights.  The  truth  is,  that  a 
s  tronger  argument  against  the  old  monarchy  of  France 
may  be  drawn  from  the  noyades  and  \hc  fusillades  than 
from  the  Bastile  and  the  Parc-aux-cerfs.  We  believe 
it  to  be  a  rule  without  an  exception,  that  the  violence 
of  a  revolution  corresponds  to  the  degree  of  misgovern- 
ment  which  has  produced  that  revolution.  Why  was 
the  French  Revolution  so  bloody  and  destructive  ? 
Why  was  our  revolution  of  1641  comparatively  mild  ? 
Why  was  our  revolution  of  1688  milder  still  ?  Why 
was  the  American  Revolution,  considered  as  an  internal 
movement,  the  mildest  of  all  ?  There  is  an  obvious 
and  complete  solution  of  the  problem.  The  English 
under  James  the  First  and  Charles  the  First  were  less 
oppressed  than  the  French  under  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
and  Louis  the  Sixteenth.  The  English  were  less  op- 
pressed after  the  Restoration  than  before  the  great  Re- 
bellion. And  America  under  George  the  Third  was 
(ess  oppressed  than  England  under  the  Stuarts.  The 


MIRABEAU.  51 

re-action  was  exactly  proportioned  to  the  pressure,  — 
the  vengeance  to  the  provocation. 

When  Mr.  Burke  was  reminded  in  his  later  years 
of  the  zeal  wliich  he  had  displayed  in  the  cause  of  the 
Americans,  he  vindicated  himself  from  the  charge  of 
inconsistency,  by  contrasting  the  •wisdom  and  modera- 
tion of  the  Colonial  insurgents  of  1776  with  the  fanati- 
cism and  wickedness  of  the  Jacobins  of  1792.  He 
was  in  fact  bringing  an  argument  a  fortiori  against 
himself.  The  circumstances  on  which  he  rested  his 
vindication  fully  proved  that  the  old  government  of 
France  stood  in  far  more  need  of  a  complete  change 
than  the  old  government  of  America.  The  difference 
between  Washington  and  Robespierre,  —  the  difference 
between  Franklin  arid  Bare're,  —  the  difference  be- 
tween the  destruction  of  a  few  barrels  of  tea  and  the 
confiscation  of  thousands  of  square  miles,  —  the  dif- 
ference between  the  tarring  and  feathering  of  a  tax- 
gatherer  and  the  massacres  of  September, — measure 
the  difference  between  the  government  of  America 
under  the  rule  of  England  and  the  government  of 
France  under  the  rule  of  the  Bourbons. 

Louis  the  Sixteenth  made  great  voluntary  conces- 
sions to  his  people ;  and  they  sent  him  to  the  scaffold. 
Charles  the  Tenth  violated  the  fundamental  laws  of  the 
state,  established  a  despotism,  and  butchered  his  sub- 
jects for  not  submitting  quietly  to  that  despotism.  He 
failed  in  his  wicked  attempt.  He  was  at  the  mercy  ot 
those  whom  he  had  injured.  The  pavements  of  Paris 
were  still  heaped  up  in  barricades  •;  —  the  hospitals  were 
still  full  of  the  wounded;  —  the  dead  were  still  un- 
buried  ;  —  a  thousand  families  were  in  mourning ;  —  a 
hundred  thousand  citizens  were  in  arms.  The  crime 
was  recent ;  —  the  life  of  the  criminal  was  in  the  hands 


52  MIRABEAD 

of  the  sufferers  ;  —  and  they  touched  r.ot  one  lair  of  hia 
head.  In  the  first  revolution,  victims  were  sent  to 
death  by  scores  for  the  most  trifling  acts  proved  by  the 
lowest  testimony,  before  the  most  partial  tribunals. 
After  the  second  revolution,  those  ministers  who  had 
signed  the  ordinances,  —  those  ministers,  whose  guilt, 
as  it  was  of  the  foulest  kind,  was  proved  by  the  clearest 
evidence,  —  were  punished  only  with  imprisonment. 
In  the  first  revolution,  property  was  attacked.  In  the 
second,  it  was  held  sacred.  Both  revolutions,  it  is  time, 
left  the  public  mind  of  France  in  an  unsettled  state. 
Both  revolutions  were  followed  by  insurrectionary 
movements.  But,  after  the  first  revolution,  the  insur- 
gents were  almost  always  stronger  than  the  law  ;  and, 
since  the  second  revolution,  the  law  has  invariably  been 
found  stronger  than  the  insurgents.  There  is,  indeed, 
much  in  the  present  state  of  France  which^  may  well 
excite  the  uneasiness  of  those  who  desire  to  see  her  free, 
happy,  powerful,  and  secure.  Yet,  if  we  compare  the 
present  state  of  France  with  the  state  in  which  she  was 
forty  years  ago,  how  vast  a  change  for  the  better  has 
taken  place !  How  little  effect,  fo^  example,  during  the 
<irst  revolution,  would  the  sentence  of  a  judicial  body 
have  produced  on  an  armed  and  victorious  body  !  If, 
after  the  10th  of  August,  or  after  the  proscription  of 
the  Gironde,  or  after  the  9th  of  Thermidor,  or  after 
the  carnage  of  Vendemiaire,  or  after  the  arrests  of  Fruc- 

O  ' 

tidor,  any  tribunal  had  decided  against  the  conquerors 
in  favour  of  the  conquered,  with  what  contempt,  with 
what  derision,  would  its  award  have  been  received  ! 
The  judges  would  have  lost  their  heads,  or  would  have 
been  sent  to  die  in  some  unwholesome  colony.  The 
fate  of  the  victim  whom  they  had  endeavoured  to  save 
* ould  only  have  been  made  darker  and  more  I  opeless 


MIRABEAU  53 

by  their  interference.  We  have  lately  seen  a  signal 
proof  that,,  in  France,  the  law  is  now  stronger  than  the 
sword.  We  have  seen  a  government,  in  the  very 
moment  of  triumph  and  revenge,  submitting  itself  to 
the  authority  of  a  court  of  law.  A  just  and  independent 
sentence  has  been  pronounced  —  a  sentence  worthy  of 
the  ancient  renown  of  that  magistracy  to  which  belong 
the  noblest  recollections  of  French  history  —  which,  in 
an  age  of  persecutors,  produced  L'Hopital,  —  which,  in 
an  age  of  courtiers,  produced  D'Aguesseau  — which,  in 
an  age  of  wickedness  and  madness,  exhibited  to  man- 
kind a  pattern  of  every  virtue  in  the  life  and  in  the 
death  of  Malesherbes.  The  respectful  manner  in  which 
that  sentence  has  been  received  is  alone  sufficient  to 
show  how  widely  the  French  of  this  generation  differ 
from  their  fathers.  And  how  is  the  difference  to  be 
explained  ?  The  race,  the  soil,  the  climate  are  the 
same.  If  those  dull,  honest  Englishmen,  who  explain 
the  events  of  1793  and  1794  by  saying  that  the  French 
are  naturally  frivolous  and  cruel,  were  in  the  right, 
why  is  the  guillotine  now  standing  idle  ?  Not  surely 
for  want  of  Carlists,  of  aristocrats,  of  people  guilty  of 
incivism,  of  people  suspected  of  being  suspicious  char- 
acters. Is  not  the  true  explanation  this,  that  the 
Frenchman  of  1882  has  been  far  better  governed  than 
the  Frenchman  of  1798,  —  that  his  soul  has  never  been 
galled  by  the  oppressive  privileges  of  a  separate  caste, 
—  that  he  has  been  in  some  degree  accustomed  to  dis- 
cuss political  questions,  and  to  perform  political  func- 
tions, —  that  he  has  lived  for  seventeen  or  eighteen 
years  under  institutions  which,  however  defective,  have 
*et  been  far  superior  to  any  institutions  that  had  before 
ixisted  in  France  ? 
As  the  second  French  Revolution  has  been  far  milder 


54  MIRABEAU. 

than  the  first,  so  that  great  change  which  has  just  been 
effected  in  England  has  been  milder  even  tlian  the,  sec- 
ond French  Revolution,  — milder  than  any  revolution 
recorded  in  history.  Some  orators  have  described  *ha 
reform  of  the  House  of  Commons  as  a  revolution. 
Others  have  denied  the  propriety  of  the  term.  The 
question,  though  in  seeming  merely  a  question  of  defi- 
nition, suggests  much  curious  and  interesting  matter  for 
reflection.  If  we  look  at  the  magnitude  of  the  reform, 
it  may  well  be  called  a  revolution.  If  we  look  at  the 
means  by  which  it  has  been  effected,  it  is  merely  an  act 
of  Parliament,  regularly  brought  in,  read,  committed, 
and  passed.  In  the  whole  history  of  England,  there  is 
no  prouder  circumstance  than  this,  —  that  a  change, 
which  could  not,  in  any  other  age,  or  in  any  other 
country,  have  been  effected  without  physical  violence, 
should  here  have  been  effected  by  the  force  of  reason, 
and  under  the  forms  of  law.  The  work  of  three  civil 
wars  has  been  accomplished  by  three  sessions  of  Parlia- 
ment. An  ancient  and  deeply  rooted  system  of  abuses 
has  been  fiercely  attacked  and  stubbornly  defended.  It 
has  fallen  ;  and  not  one  sword  has  been  drawn  ;  not 
one  estate  has  been  confiscated ;  not  one  family  has 
been  forced  to  emigrate.  The  bank  has  kept  its  credit. 
The  funds  have  kept  their  price.  Every  man  has  gono 
forth  to  his  work  and  to  his  labour  till  the  evening. 
During  the  fiercest  excitement  of  the  contest,  —  during 
the  first  fortnight  of  that  immortal  May,  —  there  was 
not  one  moment  at  which  any  sanguinary  act  com 
mitted  on  the  person  of  any  of  the  most  unpopular 
men  in  England  would  not  have  filled  the  country  with 
horror  and  indignation. 

.And,    now   that   the  victory  is   won,    has    it   been 
abused  ?     An  immense  mass  of  power  has  been  transr 


MIRABEA.U.  "    65 

ferred  from  an  oligarchy  to  the  nation.  Are  the  mem- 
bers of  the  vanquished  oligarchy  insecure  ?  Does  the 
nation  seem  disposed  to  play  the  tyrant  ?  Are  not 
those  who,  in  any  other  state  of  society,  would  hava 
been  visited  with  the  severest  vengeance  of  the  tri- 
umphant party,  —  would  have  been  pining  in  dungeons, 
or  flying  to  foreign  countries,  —  still  enjoying  Inert 
possessions  and  their  honours,  still  taking  part  as  freely 
as  ever  in  public  aftairs  ?  Two  years  ago  they  were 
dominant.  They  are  now  vanquished.  Yet  the  whole 
people  would  regard  with  horror  any  man  who  should 
dare  to  propose  any  vindictive  measure.  So  common 
is  this  feeling,  — so  much  is  it  a  matter  of  course  among 
us,  —  that  many  of  our  readers  will  scarcely  under- 
stand what  we  see  to  admire  in  it. 

To  what  are  we  to  attribute  the  unparalleled  moder 
ation  and  humanity  which  the  English  people  have  dis- 
played at  this  great  conjuncture  ?  The  answer  is  plain. 
This  moderation,  this  humanity,  are  the  fruits  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  of  liberty.  During  many  gen- 
erations we  have  had  legislative  assemblies  which,  how- 
ever defective  their  constitution  might  be,  have  always 
contained  many  members  chosen  by  the  people,  and 
many  others  eager  to  obtain  the  approbation  of  the 
people  ;  —  assemblies  in  which  perfect  freedom  of  de- 
bate was  allowed  ;  —  assemblies  in  which  the  smallest 
minority  had  a  fair  hearing ;  —  assemblies  in  which 
abuses,  even  when  they  were  not  redressed,  were  at 
lea-:  exposed.  For  many  generations  we  have  had  the 
trial  by  jury,  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act,  the  freedom  of 
the  press,  the  right  of  meeting  to  discuss  public  affairs, 
ihe  right  of  petitioning  the  legislature.  A  vast  portion 
of  the  population  has  long  been  accustomed  to  the  e$- 
ercise  of  political  functions,  and  has  been  thoroughly 

\ 


56    "  MIRABEAD. 

seasoned  to  political  excitement.  In  most  other  coun- 
tries there  is  no  middle  course  between  absolute  submis- 
sion and  open  rebellion.  In  England  there  has  always 
been  for  centuries  a  constitutional  opposition.  Thus 
our  institutions  had  been  so  good  that  they  had  educated 
us  into  a  capacity  for  better  institutions.  There  is  not 
a  large  town  in  the  kingdom  which  does  not  contain 
better  materials  for  a  legislature  than  all  France  could 
furnish  in  1789.  There  is  not  a  spouting-club  at  any 
pot-house  in  London  in  which  the  rules  of  debate  are 
not  better  understood,  and  more  strictly  observed  than 
in  the  Constituent  Assembly.  There  is  scarcely  a 
Political  Union  which  could  not  frame  in  half  an  hour 
a  declaration  of  rights  superior  to  that  which  occupied 
the  collective  wisdom  of  France  for  several  months. 

It  would  be  impossible  even  to  glance  at  all  the 
causes  of  the  French  Revolution,  within  the  limits  to 
which  we  must  confine  ourselves.  One  thing  is  clear. 
The  government,  the  aristocracy,  and  the  church,  were 
rewarded  after  their  works.  They  reaped  that  which 
they  had  sown.  They  found  the  nation  such  as  they 
had  made  it.  That  the  people  had  become  possessed 
of  irresistible  power  before  they  had  attained  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  the  art  of  government  —  that 
practical  questions  of  vast  moment  were  left  to  be 
solved  by  men  to  whom  politics  had  been  only  matter 
of  theory  —  that  a  legislature  wras  composed  of  persons 
who  were  scarcely  fit  to  compose  a  debating  society  — 
that  the  whole  nation  was  ready  to  lend  an  ear  to  anj 
flatterer  who  appealed  to  its  cupidity,  to  its  fears,  or 
to  its  thirst  for  vengeance  —  all  this  was  the  effect  of 
liisrule,  obstinately  continued  in  defiance  of  solemn 
Warnings,  and  of  the  visible  signs  of  a?i  approaching 
etribution. 


MIRABEAU.  67 

Even  while  the  monarchy  seemed  to  be  in  its  high- 
est and  most  palmy  state,  the  causes  of  that  great 
destruction  had  already  begun  to  operate.  They  may 
be  distinctly  traced  even  under  the  reign  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth.  That  reign  is  the  time  to  which  the 
Ultra-Royalists  refer  as  the  Golden  Age  of  France. 
It  was  in  truth  one  of  those  periods  which  shine  with 
an  unnatural  and  delusive  splendour,  and  which  are 
rapidly  followed  by  gloom  and  decay. 

Concerning  Louis  the  Fourteenth  himself,  the  world 
seems  at  last  to  have  formed  a  correct  judgment.  He 
was  not  a  great  general ;  he  was  not  a  great  states- 
man ;  but  he  was,  in  one  sense  of  the  words,  a  great 
king.  Never  was  there  so  consummate  a  master  of  what 
our  James  the  First  would  have  called  king-craft,  — 
of  all  those  arts  which  most  advantageously  display  the 
merits  of  a  prince,  and  most  completely  hide  lu's  defects. 
Though  his  internal  administration  was  bad,  —  though 
the  military  triumphs  which  gave  splendour  to  the  early 
part  of  his  reign,  were  not  achieved  by  himself, — 
though  his  later  years  were  crowded  with  defeats  and 
humiliations,  —  though  he  was  so  ignorant  that  he 
scarcely  understood  the  Latin  of  his  mass-book,  — 
though  he  fell  under  the  control  of  a  cunning  Jesuit, 
and  of  a  more  cunning  old  woman,  —  he  succeeded  in 
passing  himself  off  on  his  people  as  a  being  above  hu- 
manity. And  this  is  the  more  extraordinary,  because 
he  did  not  seclude  himself  from  the  public  gaze  like 
those  Oriental  despots,  whose  faces  are  never  seen,  and 
whose  very  names  it  is  a  crime  to  pronounce  lightly. 
[t  has  been  said  that  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet ;  — 
and  all  the  world  saw  as  much  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth 
is  his  valet  could  see.  Five  hundred  people  assembled 
.o  see  him  shave  and  put  on  his  breeches  in  the  morn 


58  MIRABEAU. 

ing.  He  then  kneeled  down  at  the  side  of  his  led, 
and  said  liis  prayer,  while  the  whole  assembly  awaited 
the  end  in  solemn  silence,  —  the  ecclesiastics  on  their 
knees,  and  the  laymen  with  their  hats  before  their 
faces.  He  walked  about  his  gardens  with  a  train  of 
two  hundred  courtiers  at  his  heels.  All  Versailles 
came  to  see  him  dine  and  sup.  He  was  put  to  bed  at 
night  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  as  great  as  that  Avhich 
had  met  to  see  him  rise  in  the  morning.  He  took  his 
very  emetics  in  state,  and  vomited  majestically  in  the 
presence  of  all  the  yrandes  and  petites  entrees.  Yet, 
though  he  constantly  exposed  himself  to  the  public 
gaze  in  situations  in  which  it  is  scarcely  possible  for 
any  man  to  preserve  much  personal  dignity,  he  to  the 
last  impressed  those  who  surrounded  him  with  the 
deepest  awe  and  reverence.  The  illusion  which  he 
produced  on  his  worshippers  can  be  compared  only 
to  those  illusions  to  which  lovers  are  proverbially  sub- 
ject during  the  season  of  courtship.  It  was  an  illusion 
which  affected  even  the  senses.  The  contemporaries 
of  Louis  thought  him  tall.  Voltaire,  who  might  have 
seen  him,  and  who  had  lived  with  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  members  of  his  court,  speaks  repeatedly 
of  his  majestic  stature.  Yet  it  is  as  certain  as  any  fact 
can  be,  that  he  was  rather  below  than  above  the  middle 
size.  He  had,  it  seems,  a  way  of  holding  himself,  a 
way  of  walking,  a  way  of  swelling  his  chest  and  rear- 
ing his  head,  which  deceived  the  eyes  of  the  multitude. 
Eighty  years  after  his  death,  the  royal  cemetery  was 
violated  by  the  revolutionists  ;  his  coffin  was  opened  ; 
his  body  was  dragged  out ;  and  it  appeared  that  the 
orince,  whose  majestic  figure  had  been  so  long  and 
*mdly  extolled,  was  in  truth  a  little  man.1  That  finw 
1  Even  M.  de  Chateaubriand,  to  whom  we  should  have  thought  all  the 


MIRABEAU.  59 

expression  of  Juvenal  is  singularly  applicable,  both  ir. 
its  literal  and  in  its  metaphorical  sense,  to  Louis  the 
Fourteenth : 

"  Mors  sola  fatetur 

Qudntula  sint  hoininum  corpuscula." 

His  person  and  his  government  have  had  the  same 
fate.  He  had  the  art  of  making  both  appear  grand 
and  august,  in  spite  of  the  clearest  evidence  that  both 
were  below  the  ordinary  standard.  Death  and  time 
have  exposed  both  the  deceptions.  The  body  of  the 
great  king  has  been  measured  more  justly  than  it  was 
measured  by  the  courtiers  who  were  afraid  to  look 
above  his  shoe-tie.  His  public  character  has  been 
scrutinized  by  men  free  from  the  hopes  and  fears  of 
Boileau  and  Moliere.  In  the  grave,  the  most  majestic 
of  princes  is  only  five  feet  eight.  In  history,  the  hero 
and  the  politician  dwindles  into  a  vain  and  feeble 
tyrant,  —  the  slave  of  priests  and  women,  —  little  in 
war,  —  little  in  government,  —  little  in  every  thing  but 
the  art  of  simulating  greatness. 

He  left  to  his  infant  successor  a  famished  and  miser- 
able people,  a  beaten  and  humbled  army,  provinces 
turned  into  deserts  by  misgovernment  and  persecution, 
factions  dividing  the  court,  a  schism  raging  in  the 
church,  an  immense  debt,  an  empty  treasury,  im- 
measurable palaces,  an  innumerable  household,  ines- 
timable jewels  and  furniture.  All  the  sap  and  nutri- 
ment of  the  state  seemed  to  have  been  drawn  to  feed 
one  bloated  and  unwholesome  excrescence.  The  nation 
was  withered.  The  court  was  morbidly  flourishing. 

Bourbons  would  have  seemed  at  least  six  feet  high,  admits  this  fact. 
"  C'est  line  erreur,"  says  he  in  his  strange  memoirs  of  the  Duke  of  Berri, 
tie  croire  que  Louis  XIV.  e"toit  d'une  haute  stature,  line  cuirasse  qui 
nous  reste  de  lui,  et  les  exhumations  de  St  Deny?,  a' out  Iaiss6  sur  c« 
uoint  aucun  doute." 


60  MIRABEAU. 

Yet  it  does  not  appear  that  the  associations  which 
attached  the  people  to  the  monarchy  had  lost  strength 
during  his  reign.  He  had  neglected  or  sacrificed  theii 
dearest  interests  ;  but  he  had  struck  their  imaginations. 
The  very  things  which  ought  to  have  made  him  most 
unpopular,  —  the  prodigies  of  luxury  and  magnificence 
with  which  his  person  was  surrounded,  while,  beyond 
the  inclosure  of  his  parks,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
starvation  and  despair,  —  seemed  to  increase  the  re- 
spectful attachment  which  his  subjects  felt  for  him. 
That  governments  exist  only  for  the  good  of  the 
people,  appears  to  be  the  most  obvious  and  simple 
of  all  truths.  Yet  history  proves  that  it  is  one  of 
the  most  recondite.  We  can  scarcely  wonder  that  it 
should  be  so  seldom  present  to  the  minds  of  rulers, 
when  we  see  how  slowly,  and  through  how  much  suf- 
fering, nations  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  it. 

There  was  indeed  one  Frenchman  who  had  discov- 
ered those  principles  which  it  now  seems  impossible  to 
miss,  —  that  the  many  are  not  made  for  the  use  of 
one,  —  that  the  truly  good  government  is  not  that 
which  concentrates  magnificence  in  a  court,  but  that 
which  diffuses  happiness  among  a  people,  —  that  a 
king  who  gains  victory  after  victory,  and  adds  prov- 
ince to  province,  may  deserve,  not  the  admiration, 
but  the  abhorrence  and  contempt  of  mankind.  These 
were  the  doctrines  which  Fenelon  taught.  Consid- 
ered as  an  epic  poem,  Telemachus  can  scarcely  be 
placed  above  Glover's  Leonidas  or  Wilkie's  Epigoniad. 
Considered  as  a  treatise  on  politics  and  morals,  it 
abounds  with  errors  of  detail ;  and  the  truths  which 
it  inculcates  seem  trite  to  a  modern  reader.  But,  if 
we  compare  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  written  with  the 
spirit  which  pervades  the  rest  of  the  French  literature 


MIRABEAtr.  61 

of  that  age,  we  shall  perceive  that,  though  in  appear- 
ance trite,  it  was  in  truth  one  of  the  most  original 
works  that  have  ever  appeared.  The  fundamental 
principles  of  Ftliielon's  political  morality,  the  tests  by 
which  he  judged  of  institutions  and  of  men,  were 
absolutely  new  to  his  countrymen.  He  had  taught 
them  indeed,  with  the  happiest  effect,  to  his  royal 
pupil.  But  how  incomprehensible  they  were  to  most 
people,  we  learn  from  Saint  Simon.  That  amusing 
writer  tells  us,  as  a  thing  almost  incredible,  that  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy  declared  it  to  be  his  opinion  that 
kings  existed  for  the  good  of  the  people,  and  not 
the  people  for  the  good  of  kings.  Saint  Simon  is 
delighted  with  the  benevolence  of  this  saying ;  but 
startled  by  its  novelty,  and  terrified  by  its  boldness. 
Indeed  he  distinctly  says  that  it  was  not  safe  to  repeat 
the  sentiment  in  the  court  of  Louis.  Saint  Simon 
was,  of  all  the  members  of  that  court,  the  least  courtly. 
He  was  as  nearly  an  oppositionist  as  any  man  of  his 
time.  His  disposition  was  proud,  bitter,  and  cynical. 
In  religion  he  was  a  Jansenist ;  in  politics,  a  less 
hearty  royalist  than  most  of  his  neighbours.  His 
opinions  and  his  temper  had  preserved  him  from  the 
illusions  which  the  demeanour  of  Louis  produced  on 
others.  He  neither  loved  nor  respected  the  king. 
Yet  even  this  man,  —  one  of  the  most  liberal  men  in 
France,  —  was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at  hear- 
ing the  fundamental  axiom  of  all  government  pro- 
pounded, —  an  axiom  which,  in  our  time,  nobody  in 
England  or  France  would  dispute,  —  which  the  stout- 
est Tory  takes  for  granted  as  much  as  the  fiercest 
Radical,  and  concerning  which  the  Carlist  would  agree 
whh  the  most  repxiblican  deputy  of  the  "  extreme  left." 
No  person  will  do  justice  to  Fendlon,  who  dees  not 


62  MIRABEAU. 

constantly  keep  in  mind  that  Telemaclms  was  written 
hi  an  age  and  nation  in  which  bold  and  independent 
thinkers  stared  to  hear  that  twenty  millions  of  human 
beings  did  not  exist  for  the  gratification  of  one.  That 
work  is  commonly  considered  as  a  school-book,  very 
fit  for  children,  because  its  style  is  easy  and  its  morality 
blameless,  but  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  statesmen 
and  philosophers.  We  can  distinguish  in  it,  if  we  are 
not  greatly  mistaken,  the  first  faint  dawn  of  a  long  and 
splendid  day  of  intellectual  light,  —  the  dim  promise 
of  a  great  deliverance,  —  the  undeveloped  germ  of  the 
charter  and  of  the  code. 

What  mighty  interests  were  staked  on  the  life  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy  !  and  how  different  an  aspect  might 
the  history  of  France  have  borne  if  he  had  attained  the 
age  of  his  grandfather  or  of  his  son;  —  if  he  had  been 
permitted  to  show  how  much  could  be  done  for  human- 
ity by  the  highest  virtue  in  the  highest  fortune  !  There 
is  scarcely  anything  in  history  more  remarkable  than 
the  descriptions  which  remain  to  us  of  that  extraordi- 
nary man.  The  fierce  and  impetuous  temper  which  he 
showed  in  early  youth, — the  complete  change  which  a 
judicious  education  produced  in  his  character, — his  fer- 
vid piety, — his  large  benevolence,  —  the  strictness  with 
which  he  judged  himself, — the  liberality  with  which  he 
judged  others, — the  fortitude  with  which  alone,  in  the 
whole  court,  he  stood  up  against  the  commands  of 
Louis,  when  a  religious  scruple  was  concerned,  —  the 
charity  with  which  alone,  in  the  whole  court,  he  de- 
Fended  the  profligate  Orleans  against  calumniators, — 
his  great  projects  for  the  good  of  the  people, — his 
activity  in  business, — his  taste  for  letters,  —  his  strong 
domestic  attachments, — even  the  ungraceful  person 
and  the  shy  and  awkward  manner  which  concealea 


MIRABEATL  63 

from  the  eyes  of  the  sneering  courtiers  of  his  grand- 
father so  many  rare  endowments, — make  his  character 
the  most  interesting  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  annals  of 
his  house.  He  had  resolved,  if  he  came  to  the  throne, 
to  disperse  that  ostentatious  court,  which  was  supported 
at  an  expense  ruinous  to  the  nation, — to  preserve 
peace,  —  to  correct  the  abuses  which  were  found  in 
every  part  of  the  system  of  revenue, — to  abolish  or 
modify  oppressive  privileges, — to  reform  the  adminis- 
tration of  justice,  —  to  revive  the  institution  of  the 
States  General.  If  he  had  ruled  over  France  during 
forty  or  fifty  years,  that  great  movement  of  the  human 
mind,  which  no  government  could  have  arrested,  which 
bad  government  only  rendered  more  violent,  would,  Ave 
are  inclined  to  think,  have  been  conducted,  by  peacea- 
ble means,  to  a  happy  termination. 

Disease  and  sorrow  removed  from  the  world  that  wis- 
dom and  virtue  of  which  it  was  not  worthy.  During 
two  generations  France  was  ruled  by  men  who,  with 
all  the  vices  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  had  none  of  the 
art  by  which  that  magnificent  prince  passed  off  his  vices 
for  virtues.  The  people  had  now  to  see  tyranny  naked. 
That  foul  Duessa  was  stripped  of  her  gorgeous  orna- 
ments. She  had  always  been  hideous ;  but  a  strange 
enchantment  had  made  her  seem  fair  and  glorious  in 
the  eyes  of  her  willing  slaves.  The  spell  was  now 
broken  ;  the  deformity  was  made  manifest ;  and  the 
lovers,  lately  so  happy  and  so  proud,  turned  away  loath- 
ing and  horror-struck. 

First  came  the  Regency.  The  strictness,  with  which 
Louis  had,  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  exacted  from 
those  around  him  an  outward  attention  to  religious 
duties,  produced  an  eifect  similar  to  that  which  the 
rigour  of  the  Puritans  had  produced  in  England.  It 


34  MIRABEAU. 

was  the  boast  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  in  the  time  of 
her  greatness,  that  devotion  had  become  the  fashion. 

o 

A  fashion  indeed  it  was ;  and,  like  a  fashion,  it  passed 
away.  The  austerity  of  the  tyrant's  old  age  had  in- 
jured the  morality  of  the  higher  orders  more  than  even 
the  licentiousness  of  his  youth.  Not  only  had  he  not 
reformed  their  vices,  but,  by  forcing  them  to  be  hypo- 
crites, he  had  shaken  their  belief  in  virtue.  They 
had  found  it  so  easy  to  perform  the  grimace  of  piety, 
that  it  was  natural  for  them  to  consider  all  piety  as 
grimace.  The  times  were  changed.  Pensions,  reg- 
iments, and  abbeys,  were  no  longer  to  be  obtained  by 
regular  confession  and  severe  penance ;  and  the  obse- 
quious courtiers,  who  had  kept  Lent  like  monks  of  La 
Trappe,  and  who  had  turned  up  the  whites  of  their 
eyes  at  the  edifying  parts  of  sermons  preached  before 
the  king,  aspired  to  the  title  of  rouS  as  ardently  as  they 
had  aspired  to  that  of  devot ;  and  went,  during  Pas- 
sion. Week,  to  the  revels  of  the  Palais  Royal  as  readily 
as  they  had  formerly  repaired  to  the  sermons  of  Mas- 
sill  on. 

The  Regent  was  in  many  respects  the  fac-simile  of 
our  Charles  the  Second.  Like  Charles,  he  was  a  good- 
natured  man,  utterly  destitute  of  sensibility.  Like 
Charles,  he  had  good  natural  talents,  which  a  deplora- 
ble indolence  rendered  useless  to  the  state.  Like 
Charles,  he  thought  all  men  corrupt  and  interested^ 
and  yet  did  not  dislike  them  for  being  so.  His  opinion 
of  human  nature  was  Gulliver's  ;  but  he  did  not  regard 
human  nature  with  Gulliver's  horror.  He  thought 
:hat  he  and  his  fellow-creatures  were  Yahoos ;  and  he 
thought  a  Yahoo  a  very  agreeable  kind  of  animal.  No 
princes  were  ever  more  social  than  Charles  and  Philip 
*&  Orleans ;  yet  no  princes  ever  had  less  capacity  fo7 


MIEABEAU.  66 

friendsliip.  The  tempers  of  these  clever  cynics  were 
so  easy,  and  their  minds  so  languid,  that  habit  supplied 
in  them  the  place  of  affection,  and  made  them  the  tools 
of  people  for  whom  they  cared  not  one  straAV.  In  love, 
both  were  mere  sensualists  without  delicacy  or  tender- 
ness. In  politics,  both  were  utterly  careless  of  faith 
and  of  national  honour.  Charles  shut  up  the  Ex- 
chequer. Philip  patronised  the  System.  The  councils 
of  Charles  were  swayed  by  the  gold  of  Barillon ;  the 
councils  of  Philip  by  the  gold  of  Walpole.  Charles 
for  private  objects  made  war  on  Holland,  the  natural 
ally  of  England.  Philip^  for  private  objects  made  war 
on  the  Spanish  branch  of  the  house  of  Bourbon,  the 
natural  ally,  indeed  the  creature,  of  France.  Even  in 
trifling  circumstances  the  parallel  might  be  carried  on. 
Both  these  princes  were  fond  of  experimental  philoso- 
phy, and  passed  in  the  laboratory  much  time  which 
would  have  been  more  advantageously  passed  at  the 
council-table.  Both  were  more  strongly  attached  to 
their  female  relatives  than  to  any  other  human  being  ; 
and  in  both  cases  it  was  suspected  that  this  attachment 
was  not  perfectly  innocent.  In  personal  courage,  and 
in  all  the  virtues  which  are  connected  with  personal 
courage,  the  Regent  was  indisputably  superior  to  Charles. 
Indeed  Charles  but  narrowly  escaped  the  stain  of  cow- 
ardice. Philip  was  eminently  brave,  and,  like  most 
brave  men,  was  generally  open  and  sincere.  Charles 
added  dissimulation  to  his  other  vices. 

The  administration  of  the  Regent  was  scarcely  less 
pernicious,  and  infinitely  more  scandalous,  than  that  of 
the  deceased  monarch.  It  was  by  magnificent  public 
works,  and  by  wars  conducted  on  a  gigantic  scale,  that 
Louis  had  brought  distress  on  his  people.  The  Regent 
aggravated  that  distress  by  frauds  of  which  a  lame 


36  MIRABEAU 

duc£  on  the  stock-exchange  would  have  been  ashamed, 
France,  even  while  suffering  under  the  most  severe 
calamities,  had  reverenced  the  conqueror.  She  de- 
spised the  swindler, 

When  Orleans  and  the  wretched  Dubois  had  disap- 
peared, the  power  passed  to  the  Duke  of  Bourbon ;  a 
prince  degraded  in  the  public  eye  by  the  imfamously 
lucrative  part  wliich  he  had  taken  in  the  juggles  of 
the  System,  and  by  the  humility  with  which  he  bore 
the  caprices  of  a  loose  and  imperious  woman.  It 
seemed  to  be  decreed  that  every  branch  of  the  royal 
family  should  successively  incur  the  abhorrence  and 
contempt  of  the  nation. 

Between  the  fall  of  the  Duke  of  Bourbon  and  the 
death  of  Fleury,  a  few  years  of  frugal  and  mod- 
erate government  intervened.  Then  recommenced 
the  downward  progress  of  the  monarchy.  Profligacy 
in  the  court,  extravagance  in  the  finances,  schism  in 
the  church,  faction  in  the  Parliaments,  unjust  war  ter- 
minated by  ignominious  peace,  —  all  that  indicates  and 
all  that  produces  the  ruin  of  great  empires,  make  up 
the  history  of  that  miserable  period.  Abroad,  the 
French  were  beaten  and  humbled  every  where,  by 
land  and  by  sea,  on  the  Elbe  and  on  the  Rhine,  in 
Asia  and  in  America.  At  home,  they  were  turned 
over  from  vizier  to  vizier,  and  from  sultana  to  sultana, 
till  they  had  reached  that  point  beneath  which  there 
was  no  lower  abyss  of  infamy,  —  till  the  yoke  of  Mau- 
peou  had  made  them  pine  for  Choiseul,  —  till  Madame 
du  Barri  had  taught  them  to  regret  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour. 

But,  unpopular  as  the  monarchy  had  become,  the 
aristocracy  was  more  unpopular  still ;  —  and  not  with- 
out reason.  The  tyranny  of  an  individual  is  far  more 


MIRABEAU.  0*7 

supportable  than  the  tyranny  of  a  caste.  The  old 
privileges  were  galling  and  hateful  to  the  new  wealth 
and  the  new  knowledge.  Every  thing  indicated  the 
approach  of  no  common  revolution,  —  of  a  revolution 
destined  to  change,  not  merely  the  form  of  govern- 
ment, but  the  distribution  of  property  and  the  whole 
social  system,  —  of  a  revolution  the  effects  of  which 
were  to  be  felt  at  every  fireside  in  France, — of  a 
new  Jaquerie,  in  which  the  victory  was  to  remain 
with  Jaques  bonhomme.  In  the  van  of  the  move- 
ment were  the  moneyed  men  and  the  men  of  letters, 
—  the  wounded  pride  of  wealth  and  the  wounded 
pride  of  intellect.  An  immense  multitude,  made  ig- 
norant and  cruel  by  oppression,  was  raging  in  the 
rear. 

We  greatly  doubt  whether  any  course  which  could 
have  been  pursued  by  Louis  the  Sixteenth  could  have 
averted  a  great  convulsion.  But  we  are  sure  that,  if 
there  was  such  a  course,  it  was  the  .course  recom- 
mended by  M.  Turgot.  The  church  and  the  aris- 
tocracy, with  that  blindness  to  danger,  that  incapacity, 
of  believing  that  anything  can  be  except  what  has 
been,  which  the  long  possession  of  power  seldom  fails. 
10  generate,  mocked  at  the  counsel  which  might  have 
saved  them.  They  would  not  have  reform ;  and  they 
had  revolution.  They  would  not  pay  a  small  contri-' 
bution  in  place  of  the  odious  corvees ;  and  they  lived 
to  see  their  castles  demolished,  and  their  lands  sold  to 
strangers.  They  would  not  endure  Turgot ;  and  they 
were  forced  to  endure  Robespierre.  % 

Then  the  rulers  of  France,  as  if  smitten  with  judi- 
cial blindness,  plunged  headlong  into  the  American  war. 
They  thus  committed  at  once  two  great  errors.  They 
encouraged  the  spirit  of  revolution.  They  augmented 


88  MIRABEAU. 

ai  the  same  time  those  public  burdens,  the  pressure  of 
which  is  generally  the  immediate  caiise  of  revolutions, 
The  event  of  the  Avar  carried  to  the  height  the  enthu- 
siasm of  speculative  democrats.  The  financial  difficul- 
ties produced  by  the  war  carried  to  the  height  the  dis- 
content of  that  larger  body  of  people  who  cared  little 
about  theories  and  much  about  taxes. 

The  meeting  of  the  States-General  was  the  signal 
for  the  explosion  of  all  the  hoarded  passions  of  a  cen- 
tury.  In  that  assembly,  there  were  undoubtedly  very 
able  men.  But  they  had  no  practical  knowledge  of 
the  art  of  government.  All  the  great  English  revolu- 
tions have  been  conducted  by  practical  statesmen.  The 
French  Revolution  was  conducted  by  mere  speculators. 
Our  constitution  has  never  been  so  far  behind  the  age 
as  to  have  become  an  object  of  aversion  to  the  people. 
The  English  revolutions  have  therefore  been  undertaken 
for  the  purpose  of  defending,  correcting,  and  restoring, 
—  never  for  the  mere  purpose  of  destroying.  Our 
countrymen  have  always,  even  in  times  of  the  greatest 
excitement,  spoken  reverently  of  the-  form  of  govern- 
ment under  which  they  lived,  and  attacked  only  what 
they  regarded  as  its  corruptions.  In  the  very  act  of 
innovating  they  have  constantly  appealed  to  ancient 
prescription  ;  they  have  seldom  looked  abroad  for  mod- 
els ;  they  have  seldom  troubled  themselves  with  Utopian 
theories  ;  they  have  not  been  anxious  to  prove  that 
liberty  is  a  natural  right  of  men  ;  they  have  been  con- 
tent to  regard  it  as  the  lawful  birthright  of  Englishmen. 
Their  social  contract  is  no  fiction.  It  is  still  extant  on 
die  original  parchment,  sealed  with  wax  which  was  af- 
fixed at  Runnymede,  and  attested  by  the  lordly  names 
of  the  Marischals  and  Fitzherberts.  No  general  argu- 
ments about  the  original  equality  of  men,  no  fine 


MIEABEAU.  69 

stories  out  of  Plutarch  and  Cornelius  Nepos,  have  ever 
affected  them  so  much  as  their  own  familiar  words,  — 
Magna  Charta, —  Habeas  Corpus,  —  Trial  by  Jury,  — 
Bill  of  Rights.  This  part  of  our  national  character 
has  undoubtedly  its  disadvantages.  An  Englishman 
too  often  reasons  on  politics  in  the  spirit  rather  of  a 
lawyer  than  of  a  philosopher.  There  is  too  often  some- 
thing narrow,  something  exclusive,  something  Jewish, 
if  we  may  use  the  word,  in  his  love  of  freedom.  He 
is  disposed  to  consider  popular  rights  as  the  special  her- 
itage of  the  chosen  race  to  which  he  belongs.  He  is 
inclined  rather  to  repel  than  to  encourage  the  alien 
proselyte  who  aspires  to  a  share  of  his  privileges.  Very 
different  was  the  spirit  of  the  Constituent  Assembly. 
They  had  none  of  our  narrowness  ;  but  they  had  none 
of  our  practical  skill  in  the  management  of  affairs. 
They  did  not  understand  how  to  regulate  the  order  of 
their  own  debates ;  and  they  thought  themselves  able 
to  legislate  for  the  whole  world.  All  the  past  was 
loathsome  to  them.  All  their  agreeable  associations 
were  connected  with  the  future.  Hopes  were  to  them 
all  that  recollections  are  to  us.  In  the  institutions  of 
their  country  they  found  nothing  to  love  or  to  admire. 
\s  far  back  as  they  could  look,  they  saw  only  the 
tyranny  of  one  class  and  the  degradation  of  another,  — 
Frank  and  Gaul,  knight  and  villein,  gentleman  and 
roturier.  They  hated  the  monarchy,  the  church,  the 
nobility.  They  cared  nothing  for  the  States  or  the 
Parliament.  It  was  long  the  fashion  to  ascribe  all  the 
follies  which  they  committed  to  the  writings  of  the 
ohilosophers.  We  believe  that  it  was  misrule,  and 
nothing  but  misrule,  that  put  the  sting  into  those  writ- 
mgs.  It  is  not  true  that  the  French  abandoned  experi- 
ence for  theories.  They  took  up  with  theories  because 


70  MIRABEAU. 

they  had  no  experience  of  good  government.  It  was 
because  they  had  no  charter  that  they  ranted  about  the 
original  contract.  As  soon  as  tolerable  institutions 
were  given  to  them,  they  began  to  look  to  those  insti- 
tutions. In  1830  their  rallying  cry  was  Vive  la  Charte. 
In  1789  they  had  nothing  but  theories  round  which  to 
rally.  They  had  seen  social  distinctions  only  in  a  bad 
form  ;  and  it  was  therefore  natural  that  they  should  be 
deluded  by  sophisms  abont  the  equality  of  men.  They 
had  experienced  so  much  evil  from  the  sovereignty  of 
kings  that  they  might  be  excused  for  lending  a  ready 
ear  to  those  who  preached,  in  an  exaggerated  form,  the 
doctrine  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people. 

The  English,  content  with  their  own  national  recol- 
lections and  names,  have  never  sought  for  models  in 

O 

the  institutions  of  Greece  or  Rome.  The  French,  hav- 
ing nothing  in  their  own  history  to  which  they  could 
look  back  with  pleasure,  had  recourse  to  the  history  of 
the  great  ancient  commonwealths :  they  drew  their 
notions  of  those  commonwealths,  not  from  contempo- 
rary writers,  but  from  romances  written  by  pedantic 
moralists  long  after  the  extinction  of  public  liberty. 
They  neglected  Thucydides  for  Plutarch.  Blind  them- 
selves,  they  took  blind  guides.  They  had  no  experience 
of  freedom  ;  and  they  took  their  opinions  concerning  it 
from  men  who  had  no  more  experience  of  it  than  them- 
selves, and  whose  imaginations,  inflamed  by  mystery 
and  privation,  exaggerated  the  unknoAvn  enjoyment ; 
—  from  men  who  raved  about  patriotism  without  hav- 
ing ever  had  a  country,  and  eulogised  tyrannicide  while 
crouching  before  tyrants.  The  maxim  which  the  French 
.egislators  learned  in  this  school  was,  that  political  lib- 
erty is  an  end,  and  not  a  means  ;  that  it  is  not  merely 
valuable  as  the  great  safe-guard  of  order,  of  property 


MIRABEAU.  71 

Rnd  of  morality,  but  that  it  is  in  itself  a  high  and 
exquisite  happiness  to  which  order,  property,  and  mo- 
rality ought  without  one  scruple  to  be  sacrificed.  The 
lessons  which  may  be  learned  from  ancient  history  aro 
indeed  most  useful  and  important  ;  but  they  were  not 
likely  to  be  learned  by  men  who,  in  all  their  rhapsodies 
about  the  Athenian  democracy,  seemed  utterly  to  for- 
get that  in  that  democracy  there  were  ten  slaves  to  one 
citizen  ;  and  who  constantly  decorated  their  invectives 
against  the  aristocrats  with  panegyrics  on  Brutus  and 
Cato,  —  two  aristocrats,  fiercer,  prouder,  and  more  ex- 
clusive, than  any  that  emigrated  with  the  Count  of 
Artois. 

We  have  never  met  with  so  vivid  and  interesting  a 
picture  of  the  National  Assembly  as  that  which  M.  Du- 
mont  has  set  before  us.  His  Mirabeau,  in  particular, 
is  incomparable.  All  the  former  Mirabeaus  were  daubs 
in  comparison.  Some  were  merely  painted  from  the 
imagination  —  others  were  gross  caricatures  :  this  is  the 
very  individual,  neither  god  nor  demon,  but  a  man  — 
a  Frenchman,  —  a  Frenchman  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, with  great  talents,  with  strong  passions,  depraved 
by  bad  education,  surrounded  by  temptations  of  every 
kimV — made  desperate  at  one  time  by  disgrace,  and 
then  again  intoxicated  by  fame.  All  his  opposite  and 
seemingly  inconsistent  qualities  are  in  this  representa- 
tion so  blended  together  as  to  make  up  a  harmonious 
And  natural  whole.  Till  now,  Mirabeau  was  to  us, 
•and,  we  believe,  to  most  readers  of  history,  not  a  man, 
but  a  string  of  antitheses.  Henceforth  he  will  be  a 
real  human  being,  a  remarkable  and  eccentric  being 
ndeed,  but  perfectly  conceivable. 

He  was  fond,  M.  Dumont  tells  us,  of  giving  odd 
siompound  nicknames.  Thus,  M.  de  Lafayette  was 


72  MTRABEATT 

Grandisui-Cromwell ;  the  king  of  Prussia  was  Alaric- 
Cottin  ;  D'Espreinenil  was  Crispin-Catiline.  We 
think  that  Mirabeau  himself  might  be  described,  after 
his  own  fashion,  as  a  Wilkes-Chatham.  He  had 
Wilkes's  sensuality,  Wilkes's  levity,  Wilkes's  insen- 
sibility to  shame.  Like  Wilkes,  he  had  brought  on 
himself  the  censure  even  of  men  of  pleasure  by  the  pe- 
culiar grossness  of  his  immorality,  and  by  the  obscenity 
of  his  writings.  Like  Wilkes,  he  was  heedless,  not 
only  of  the  laws  of  morality,  but  of  the  laws  of  honour. 
Yet  he  affected,  like  Wilkes,  to  unite  the  character  of 
the  demagogue  to  that  of  the  fine  gentleman.  Like 
Wilkes,  he  conciliated,  by  his  good  humour  and  his 
high  spirits,  the  regard  of  many  who  despised  his  charac- 
ter. Like  Wilkes,  he  was  hideously  ugly  ;  like  Wilkes, 
he  made  a  jest  of  his  own  ugliness  ;  and,  like  Wilkes, 
he  was,  in  spite  of  his  ugliness,  very  attentive  to  his 
dress,  and  very  successful  in  affairs  of  gallantry. 

Resembling  Wilkes  in  the  lower  and  grosser  parts 
of  his  character,  he  had,  in  his  higher  qualities,  some 
affinity  to  Chatham.  His  eloquence,  as  far  as  we  can 
judge  of  it,  bore  no  inconsiderable  resemblance  to  that 
of  the  great  English  minister.  He  was  not  eminently 
successful  in  long  set  speeches.  He  was  not,  oil,  the 
t>ther  hand,  a  close  and  ready  debater.  Sudden  bursts, 
which  seemed  to  be  the  effect  of  inspiration  —  short 
sentences  which  came  like  lightning,  dazzling,  burning, 
striking  down  every  thing  before  them  —  sentences 
wliich,  spoken  at  critical  moments,  decided  the  fate 
of  great  questions  —  sentences  which  at  once  became 
proverbs  —  sentences  which  everybody  still  knows  by 
heart  —  in  these  chiefly  lay  the  oratorical  power  both 
}f  Chatham  and  of  Mirabeau.  There  have  been  fat 
graater  speakers,  and  far  greater  statesmen,  than  either 


MIRABEAU.  73 

of  them ;  but  we  doubt  whether  any  men  have,  in 
modern  times,  exercised  such  vast  personal  influence 
over  stormy  and  divided  assemblies.  The  power  of 
both  was  as  much  moral  as  intellectual.  In  true 
dignity  of  character,  in  private  and  public  virtue,  it 
may  seem  absurd  to  institute  any  comparison  between 
them ;  but  they  had  the  same  haughtiness  and  vehe- 
mence of  temper.  In  their  language  and  manner 
there  was  a  disdainful  self-confidence,  an  imperiousness, 
a  fierceness  of  passion,  before  which  all  common  minds 
quailed.  Even  Murray  and  Charles  Townshend, 
though  intellectually  not  inferior  to  Chatham,  were 
always  cowed  by  him.  Barnave,  in  the  same  manner, 
though  the  best  debater  in  the  National  Assembly, 
flinched  before  the  energy  of  Mirabeau.  Men,  except 
in  bad  novels,  are  not  all  sood  or  all  evil.  It  can 

'  O 

scarcely  be  denied  that  the  virtue  of  Lord  Chatham 
was  a  little  theatrical.  On  the  other  hand  there  was 
in  Mirabeau,  not  indeed  any  thing  deserving  the  name 
of  virtue,  but  that  imperfect  substitute  for  virtue  which 
is  found  in  almost  all  superior  minds,  —  a  sensibility  to 
the  beautiful  and  the  good,  which  sometimes  amounted 
to  sincere  enthusiasm;  and  which,  mingled  with  the 
desire  of  admiration,  sometimes  gave  to  his  character  a 
lustre  resembling  the  lustre  of  true  goodness,  —  as  the 
"  faded  splendour  wan "  which  lingered  round  the 
fallen  archangel  resembled  the  exceeding  brightness 
of  those  spirits  who  had  kept  their  first  estate. 

There  are  several  other  admirable  portraits  of 
eminent  men  in  these  Memoirs.  That  of  Sieyes 
m  particular,  and  that  of  Talleyrand,  are  masterpieces, 
'till  of  life  and  expression.  But  nothing  in  the  book 
has  interested  us  more  than  the  view  which  M.  Du- 
-nont  has  presented  to  us,  unostentatiously,  and,  we 


T4  MIRABEAU. 

may  say,  unconsciously,  of  his  own  character.  The 
sturdy  rectitude,  the  large  charity,  the  good-nature, 
the  modesty,  the  independent  spirit,  the  ardent  phi- 
lanthropy, the  unaffected  indifference  to  money  and  to 
fame,  make  up  a  character  which,  while  it  has  nothing 
unnatural,  seems  to  us  to  approach  nearer  to  perfection 
than  any  of  the  Grandisons  and  Allworthys  of  fiction. 
The  work  is  not  indeed  precisely  such  a  work  as  we 
had  anticipated  —  it  is  more  lively,  more  picturesque, 
more  amusing  than  we  had  promised  ourselves ;  and  it 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  less  profound  and  philosophic. 
But,  if  it  is  not,  in  all  respects,  such  as  might  have 
been  expected  from  the  intellect  of  M.  Dumont,  it 
is  assuredly  such  as  nrght  have  been  expected  from  1m 
heart. 


WAR  OF  THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  January,  1833.) 

THE  days  when  Miscellanies  in  Prose  and  Verse  by 
a  Person  of  Honour,  and  Romances  of  M.  Scuderi, 
done  into  English  by  a  Person  of  Quality,  were  at- 
tractive to  readers  and  profitable  to  booksellers,  have 
long  gone  by.  The  literary  privileges  once  enjoyed 
by  lords  are  as  obsolete  as  their  right  to  kill  the  King's 
deer  on  their  way  to  Parliament,  or  as  their  old  rem- 
edy of  scandalum  magnaUim.  Yet  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that,  though  our  political  opinions  are  by  no 
means  aristocratical,  we  always  feel  kindly  disposed 
towards  noble  authors.  Industry  and  a  taste  for  intel- 
lectual pleasures  are  peculiarly  respectable  in  those 
who  can  afford  to  be  idle  and  who  have  every  tempta- 
tion to  be  dissipated.  It  is  impossible  not  to  wish  suc- 
cess to  a  man  who,  finding  himself  placed,  without  any 
exertion  or  any  merit  on  his  part,  above  the  mass 
of  society,  voluntarily  descends  from  his  eminence  in 
search  of  distinctions  which  he  may  justly  call  his 
own. 

This  is,  we  think,  the  second  appearance  of  Lord 
Mahon  in  the  character  of  an  author.  His  first  book 
was  creditable  to  him,  but  was  in  every  respect  infe- 
rior to  the  work  which  now  lies  before  us.  He  has 

1  History  of  the  War  of  the  Succession  in  Spain.    By  LORD  MAIION.    8vo 
«ondon  :   1832. 


76  LOKD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

undoubtedly  some  of  the  most  valuable  qualities  of 
a  historian,  great  diligence  in  examining  authorities, 
great  judgment  in  weighing  testimony,  and  great  im- 
partiality in  estimating  characters.  We  are  not  aware 
that  he  has  in  any  instance  forgotten  the  duties  be- 
longing to  his  literary  functions  in  the  feelings  of  a 
kinsman.  He  does  no  more  than  justice  to  his  ances- 
tor Stanhope ;  he  does  full  justice  to  Stanhope's  ene- 
mies and  rivals.  His  narrative  is  very  perspicuous, 
and  is  also  entitled  to  the  praise,  seldom,  we  grieve  to 
say,  deserved  by  modern  writers,  of  being  very  con- 
cise. It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that,  with  many 
of  the  best  qualities  of  a  literary  veteran,  he  has  some 
of  the  faults  of  a  literary  novice.  He  has  not  yet 
acquired  a  great  command  of  words.  His  style  is 
seldom  easy,  and  is  now  and  then  unpleasantly  stiff. 
He  is  so  bigoted  a  purist  that  he  transforms  the  Abb£ 
d'Estrdes  into  an  Abbot.  We  do  not  like  to  see 
French  words  introduced  into  English  composition ; 
but,  after  all,  the  first  law  of  writing,  that  law  to 
which  all  other  laws  are  subordinate,  is  this,  that  the 
words  employed  shall  be  such  as  convey  to  the  reader 
the  meaning  of  the  writer.  Now  an  Abbot  is  the 
head  of  a  religious  house  ;  an  Abb6  is  quite  a  different 
sort  of  person.  It  is  better  undoubtedly  to  use  an 
English  word  than  a  French  word ;  but  it  is  better  to 
use  a  French  word  than  to  misuse  an  English  word. 

Lord  Mahon  is  also  a  little  too  fond  of  uttering 
moral  reflections  in  a  style  too  sententious  and  oracu- 
lar. We  will  give  one  instance :  "  Strange  as  it  seems, 
experience  shows  that  we  usually  feel  far  more  animos- 
ity against  those  whom  we  have  injured  than  against 
those  who  injure  us :  and  this  remark  holds  good  with 
3  very  degree  of  intellect,  with  every  class  of  fortuna 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  77 

vrltli  a  prince  or  a  peasant,  a  stripling  or  an  elder, 
a  hero  or  a  prince."  This  remark  might  have  seemed 
strange  at  the  court  of  Nimrod  or  Chedorlaomer  ;  but 
it  has  now  been  for  many  generations  considered  as  a 
truism  rather  than  a  paradox.  Every  boy  has  written 
on  the  thesis  "  Odisse  quern  Iceseris."  Scarcely  any 
lines  in  English  Poetry  are  better  known  than  that 
vigorous  couplet, 

"  Forgiveness  to  the  injured  does  belong; 
But  they  ne'er  pardon  who  have  done  the  wrong." 

The  historians  and  philosophers  have  quite  done  with 
this  maxim,  and  have  abandoned  it,  h'ke  other  maxims 
which  have  lost  their  gloss,  to  bad  novelists,  by  whom 
it  will  very  soon  be  worn  to  rags. 

It  is  no  more  than  justice  to  say  that  the  faults  of 
Lord  Mahon's  book  are  precisely  the  faults  which  time 
seldom  fails  to  cure,  and  that  the  book,  in  spite  of  those 
faults,  is  a  valuable  addition  to  our  historical  literature. 

Whoever  wishes  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  mor- 
bid anatomy  of  governments,  whoever  wishes  to  know 
how  great  states  may  be  made  feeble  and  wretched, 
should  study  the  history  of  Spain.  The  empire  of 
Philip  the  Second  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most 
powerful  and  splendid  that  ever  existed  in  the  world. 
In  Europe,  he  ruled  Spain,  Portugal,  the  Netherlands 
on  both  sides  of  the  Rhine,  Franche  Cerate",  Roussillon, 
the  Milanese,  and  the  Two  Sicilies.  Tuscany,  Parma, 
and  the  othei  small  states  of  Italy,  were  as  completely 
dependent  on  him  as  the  Nizam  and  the  Rajah  of 
Berar  now  are  on  the  East  India  Company.  In  Asia, 
the  King  of  Spain  was  master  of  the  Philippines  and 
pf  all  those  rich  settlements  which  the  Portuguese  had 
tnade  on  the  coasts  of  Malabar  and  Coromandel,  in  the 


78  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

Peninsula  of  Malacca,  and  in  the  spice-islands  of  the 
Eastern  Archipelago.  In  America,  his  dominions  ex- 
tended on  each  side  of  the  equator  into  the  temperate 
zone.  There  is  reason  to  helieve  that  his  annual  rev- 
enue amounted,  in  the  season  of  his  greatest  power,  to 
a  sum  near  ten  times  as  large  as  that  which  England 
yielded  to  Elizabeth.  He  had  a  standing  army  of  fifty 
thousand  excellent  troops,  at  a  time  when  England  had 
not  a  single  battalion  in  constant  pay.  His  ordinary 
naval  force  consisted  of  a  hundred  and  forty  galleys. 
He  held,  what  no  other  prince  in  modern  times  has 
held,  the  dominion  both  of  the  land  and  of  the  sea. 
During  the  greater  part  of  his  reign,  he  was  supreme  on 
both  elements.  His  soldiers  marched  up  to  the  capital 
of  France  ;  his  ships  menaced  the  shores  of  England. 
It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that,  during  several 
years,  his  power  over  Europe  was  greater  than  even 
that  of  Napoleon.  The  influence  of  the  French  con- 
queror never  extended  beyond  low-water  mark.  The 
naiTOwest  strait  was  to  his  power  what  it  was  of  old 
believed  that  a  running  stream  was  to  the  sorceries  of 
a  witch.  Wliile  his  army  entered  every  metropolis 
from  Moscow  to  Lisbon,  the  English  fleets  blockaded 
every  port  from  Dantzic  to  Trieste.  Sicily,  Sardinia, 
Majorca,  Guernsey,  enjoyed  security  through  the  whole 
course  of  a  war  which  endangered  everv  throne  on  the 

O  •/ 

Continent.  The  victorious  and  imperial  nation  which 
had  filled  its  museums  with  the  spoils  of  Antwerp,  of 
Florence,  and  of  Rome,  was  suffering  painfully  from 
the  want  of  luxuries  which  use  had  made  necessaries. 
While  pillars  and  arches  were  rising  to  commemorate 
the  French  conquests,  the  conquerors  were  trying  to 
manufacture  coffee  out  of  succory  and  sugar  out  of 
ocet-root.  The  influence  of  Philip  on  the  Continent 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  79 

was  as  great  as  that  of  Napoleon.  The  Emperor  of 
Germany  was  his  kinsman.  France,  torn  by  religious 
dissensions,  was  never  a  formidable  opponent,  and  was 
sometimes  a  dependent  ally.  At  the  same  time,  Spain 
had  what  Napoleon  desired  in  vain,  ships,  colonies,  and 
commerce.  She  long  monopolised  the  trade  of  America 
and  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  All  the  gold  of  the  West, 
and  all  the  spices  of  the  East,  were  received  and  dis- 
tributed by  her.  During  many  years  of  war,  her  com- 
merce was  interrupted  only  by  the  predatory  enter- 
prises of  a  few  roving  privateers.  Even  after  the  de- 
feat of  the  Armada,  English  statesmen  continued  to 
look  with  great  dread  on  the  maritime  power  of  Philip. 
"  The  King  of  Spain,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper  to  the 
two  Houses  in  1593,  "  since  he  hath  usurped  upon  the 
kingdom  of  Portugal,  hath  thereby  grown  mighty  by 
gaining  the  East  Indies :  so  as,  how  great  soever  lie 
was  before,  he  is  now  thereby  manifestly  more  great : 
....  He  keepeth  a  navy  armed  to  impeach  all  trade 
of  merchandise  from  England  to  Gascoigne  and 
Guienne,  which  he  attempted  to  do  this  last  vintage  ; 
so  as  be  is  now  become  as  a  frontier  enemy  to  all  the 
west  of  England,  as  well  as  all  the  south  parts,  as  Sus- 
sex, Hampshire,  and  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Yea,  by 
means  of  his  interest  in  St.  Maloes,  a  port  full  of  ship- 
ping for  the  war,  he  is  a  dangerous  neighbour  to  the 
Queen's  isles  of  Jersey  and  Guernsey,  ancient  posses- 
sions of  this  crown,  and  never  conquered  in  the  great- 
est wars  with  France." 

The  ascendency  which  Spain  then  had  in  Europe 
was,  in  one  sense,  well  deserved.  It  was  an  ascen- 
dency which  had  been  gained  by  unquestioned  superi- 
ority in  all  tbe  arts  of  po]icy  and  of  war.  In  the 
tLxteenth  century,  Italy  was  not  more  decidedly  the 


80  I^ORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 

land  of  the  fine  arts,  Germany  was  not  more  deeidedU 
the  land  of  bold  theological  speculation,  than  Spain 
was  the  land  of  statesmen  and  of  soldiers.  The  charac- 
ter which  Virgil  has  ascribed  to  his  countrymen  might 
have  been  claimed  by  the  grave  and  h,aughty  chiefs, 
who  surrounded  the  throne  of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic, 
and  of  his  immediate  successors.  That  majestic  art, 
"  regere  imperio  populos,"  was  not  better  understood 
by  the  Romans  in  the  proudest  days  of  their  republic, 
than  by  Gonsalvo  and  Ximenes,  Cortez  and  Alva. 
The  skill  of  the  Spanish  diplomatists  was  renowned 
throughout  Europe.  In  England  the  name  of  G  on  do- 
mar  is  still  remembered.  The  sovereign  nation  was 
unrivalled  both  in  regular  and  irregular  warfare.  The 
impetuous  chivalry  of  France,  the  serried  phalanx  of 
Switzerland,  were  alike  found  wanting  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  Spanish  infantry.  In  the  wars 
of  the  New  World,  where  something  different  from 
ordinary  strategy  was  required  in  the  general  and 
something  different  from  ordinary  discipline  in  the 
soldier,  where  it  was  every  day  necessary  to  meet  by 
some  new  expedient  the  varying  tactics  of  a  barbarous 
enemy,  the  Spanish  adventurers,  sprung  from  the  com- 
mon people,  displayed  a  fertility  of  resource,  and  a 
talent  for  negotiation  and  command,  to  which  history 
scarcely  affords  a  parallel. 

The  Castilian  of  those  times  was  to  the  Italian  what 
the  Roman,  in  the  days  of  the  greatness  of  Rome,  was 
to  the  Greek.  The  conqueror  had  less  ingenuity,  less 
>aste,  less  delicacy  of  perception  than  the  conquered  ; 
but  far  more  pride,  firmness,  and  courage,  a  more  solemn 
demeanour,  a  stronger  sense  of  honour.  The  subject 
had  more  subtlety  in  speculation,  the  ruler  more  energy 
«i  action.  The  vices  of  the  former  were  those  of  3 


THE  SUCCESSION  IX  SPAIN.  81 

coward ;  the  vices  of  the  latter  were  those  of  a  tyrant.. 
It  may  be  added,  that  the  Spaniard,  like  the  Roman, 
did  not  disdain  to  study  the  arts  and  the  language  of 
those  whom  he  oppressed.  A  revolution  took  place  in 
the  literature  of  Spain,  not  unlike  that  revolution  which, 
as  Horace  tells  us,  took  place  in  the  poetry  of  Latiuin : 
"  Capta  ferum  victorem  cepit."  The  slave  took  pris- 
oner the  enslaver.  The  old  Castilian  ballads  gave 
place  to  sonnets  in  the  style  of  Petrarch,  and  to  heroic 
poems  in  the  stanza  of  Ariosto,  as  the  national  songs  of 
Rome  were  driven  out  by  imitations  of  Theocritus,  and 
translations  from  Menander. 

In  no  modern  society,  not  even  in  England  during 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  has  there  been  so  great  a  num- 
ber of  men  eminent  at  once  in  literature  and  in  the  pur- 
suits of  active  life,  as  Spain  produced  during  the  six- 
teenth century.  Almost  every  distinguished  writer 
was  also  distinguished  as  a  soldier  and  a  politician. 
Boscan  bore  arms  Avith  high  reputation.  Garcilaso  de 
Vega,  the  author  of  the  sweetest  and  most  graceful 
pastoral  poem  of  modern  times,  after  a  short  but  splen- 
did military  career,  fell  sword  in  hand  at  the  head  of  a 
stonning  party.  Alonzo  de  Ercilla  bore  a  conspicuous 
part  in  that  war  of  Arauco,  which  he  afterwards  cele- 
brated in  one  of  the  best  heroic  poems  that  Spain  has 
produced.  Hurtado  de  Mendoza,  whose  poems  have 
been  compared  to  those  of  Horace,  and  whose  charm- 
ing little  novel  is  evidently  the  model  of  Gil  Bias, 
has  been  handed  down  to  us  by  history  as  one  of  the 
sternest  of  those  iron  pro-consuls  who  were  employed 
oy  the  House  of  Austria  to  crush  the  lingering  public 
spirit  of  Italy.  Lope  sailed  in  the  Armada  ;  Cervantes 
Was  wounded' at  Lepanto. 

It  is  curious  to  consider  with  hnw  much  awe  our  an 


82  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

cestors  in  those  times  regarded  a  Spaniar  i.  He  was, 
in  their  apprehension,  a  kind  of  daemon,  horribly  ma- 
levolent, but  withal  most  sagacious  and  powerful. 
"  They  be  verye  wyse  and  politicke,"  says  an  honest 
Englishman,  in  a  memorial  addressed  to  Mary,  "  and 
can,  thorowe  ther  wysdome,  reform  and  brydell  theyr 
owne  natures  for  a  tyme,  and  applye  their  conditions 
to  the  maners  of  those  men  with  whom  they  meddell 
gladlye  by  friendshippe ;  whose  mischievous  maners  a 
man  shall  never  knowe  untyll  he  come  under  ther  sub- 
jection :  but  then  shall  he  parfectlye  parceyve  and  fele 
them  :  which  thynge  I  praye  God  England  never  do : 
for  in  dissimulations  untyll  they  have  ther  purposes, 
and  afterwards  in  oppression  and  tyrannye,  when  they 
can  obtayne  them,  they  do  exceed  all  other  nations 
upon  the  earthe."  This  is  just  such  language  as 
Arminius  would  have  used  about  the  Romans,  or  as  an 
Indian  statesman  of  our  times  might  use  about  the 
English.  It  is  the  language  of  a  man  burning  with 
hatred,  but  cowed  by  those  whom  he  hates  ;  and  pain- 
fully sensible  of  their  superiority,  not  only  in  power, 
but  in  intelligence. 

But  how  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  O  Lucifer, 
son  of  the  morning !  How  art  thou  cut  down  to  the 
ground,  that  didst  weaken  the  nations  !  If  we  over- 
leap a  hundred  years,  and  look  at  Spain  towards  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  what  a  change  do  we 
find  !  The  contrast  is  as  great  as  that  which  the  Rome 
of  Gallienus  and  Honorius  presents  to  the  Rome  of 
Marius  and  Caesar.  Foreign  conquest  had  begun  to 
eat  into  every  part  of  that  gigantic  monarchy  on  which 
the  sun  never  set.  Holland  was  gone,  and  Portugal, 
and  Artois,  and  Roussillon,  and  Franche  Cerate".  In 
the  Eant,  the  empire  founded  by  the  Dutch  far  sur- 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  83 

passed  in  wealth  and  splendour  that  which  their  old 
tyrants  still  retained.  In  the  West,  England  had 
seized,  and  still  held,  settlements  in  the  midst  of  the 
Mexican  sea. 

The  mere  loss  of  territory  was,  however,  of  little 
moment.  The  reluctant  obedience  of  distant  provin- 
ces generally  costs  more  than  it  is  worth.  Empires 
which  branch  out  widely  are  often  more  nourishing  for 
a  little  timely  pruning.  Adrian  acted  judiciously  when 
he  abandoned  the  conquests  of  Trajan ;  and  England 
was  never  so  rich,  so  great,  so  formidable  to  foreign 
princes,  so  absolutely  mistress  of  the  sea,  as  since  the 
loss  of  her  American  colonies.  The  Spanish  empire 
was  still,  in  outward  appearance,  great  and  magnificent. 
The  European  dominions  subject  to  the  last  feeble 
Prince  of  the  House  of  Austria  were  far  more  exten- 
sive than  those  of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth.  The  Ameri- 
can dependencies  of  the  Castilian  crown  still  extended 
far  to  the  North  of  Cancer  and  far  to  the  South  oi 
Capricorn.  But  within  this  immense  body  there  was 
an  incurable  decay,  an  utter  want  of  tone,  an  utter 
prostration  of  strength.  An  ingenious  and  diligent 
population,  eminently  skilled  in  arts  and  manufactures, 
had  been  driven  into  exile  by  stupid  and  remorseless 
bigots.  The  glory  of  the  Spanish  pencil  had  departed 
with  Velasquez  and  Murillo.  The  splendid  age  of 
Spanish  literature  had  closed  with  Solis  and  Calderon. 
Dui  ing  the  seventeenth  century  many  states  had  formed 
great  military  establishments.  But  the  Spanish  army, 
BO  formidable  under  the  command  of  Alva  and  Far- 
nese,  had  dwindled  away  to  a  few  thousand  men,  ill 
paid  and  ill  disciplined.  England,  Holland,  and  France 
had  great  navies.  But  the  Spanish  navy  was  scarcely 
Vjual  to  the  tenth  part  of  that  mighty  force  which,  in 


84  LORD  MAIION'S  WAR  OF 

the  time  of  Philip  the  Second,  had  been  the  terror  of 
the  Atlantic  and  the  Mediterranean.  The  arsenals 
were  deserted.  The  magazines  were  unprovided.  The 
frontier  fortresses  were  ungarrisoned.  The  police  was 
utterly  inefficient  for  the  protection  of  the  people. 
Murders  were  committed  in  the  face  of  day  with  perfect 
impunity.  Bravoes  and  discarded  serving-men,  with 
swords  at  their  sides,  swaggered  every  day  through  the 
most  public  streets  and  squares  of  the  capital,  disturb- 
ing the  public  peace,  and  setting  at  defiance  the  minis- 
ters of  justice.  The  finances  were  in  frightful  disorder. 
The  people  paid  much.  The  government  received 
little.  The  American  viceroys  and  the  farmers  of  the 
revenue  became  rich,  while  the  merchants  broke,  while 
the  peasantry  starved,  while  the  body-servants  of  the 
sovereign  remained  unpaid,  while  the  soldiers  of  the 
royal  guard  repaired  daily  to  the  doors  of  convents,  and 
battled  there  with  the  crowd  of  beggars  for  a  porringer 
of  broth  and  a  morsel  of  bread.  Every  remedy  which 
was  tried  aggravated  the  disease.  The  currency  was 
altered ;  and  this  frantic  measure  produced  its  never- 
failing  effects.  It  destroyed  all  credit,  and  increased 
the  misery  which  it  was  intended  to  relieve.  The 
American  gold,  to  use  the  words  of  Ortiz,  was  to  the 
necessities  of  the  state  but  as  a  drop  of  water  to  the  lips 
of  a  man  raging  with  thirst.  Heaps  of  unopened 
despatches  accumulated  in  the  offices,  while  the  Minis- 
ters were  concerting  with  bedchamber-women  and 
Jesuits  the  means  of  tripping  up  each  other.  Every 
'breign  power  could  plunder  and  insult  with  impunity 
the  heir  of  Charles  the  Fifth.  Into  such  a  state  had 
the  mighty  kingdom  of  Spain  fallen,  while  one  of  its 
smallest  dependencies,  a  country  not  so  large  as  the 
province  of  Estrcmadura  or  Andalusia,  situated  under 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  85 

an  inclement  sky,  an  J  preserved  only  by  artificial  mcani 
from  the  inroads  of  the  ocean,  had  become  a  power  oi 
the  first  class,  and  treated  on  terms  of  equality  with  the 
courts  of  London  and  Versailles. 

The  manner  in  which  Lord  Mahon  explains  the 
financial  situation  of  Spain  by  no  means  satisfies  us. 
"  It  will  be  found,"  says  he,  "  that  those  individuals 
deriving  their  chief  income  from  mines,  whose  yearly 
produce  is  uncertain  and  varying,  and  seems  rather  to 
spring  from  fortune  than  to  follow  industry,  are  usually 
careless,  unthrifty,  and  irregular  in  their  expenditure. 
The  example  of  Spain  might  tempt  us  to  apply  the 
same  remark  to  states."  Lord  Mahon  would  find  it 
difficult,  we  suspect,  to  make  out  his  analogy.  Nothing 
could  be  more  uncertain  and  varying  than  the  gains 
and  losses  of  those  who  were  in  the  habit  of  putting 
into  the  state  lotteries.  But  no  part  of  the  public 
income  was  more  certain  than  that  which  was  derived 
from  the  lotteries.  We  believe  that  this  case  is  very 
similar  to  that  of  the  American  mines.  Some  veins  of 
ore  exceeded  expectation  ;  some  fell  below  it.  Some 
of  the  private  speculators  drew  blanks,  and  others 
gained  prizes.  But  the  revenue  of  the  state  depended, 
not  on  any  particular  vein,  but  on  the  whole  annual 
produce  of  two  great  continents.  This  annual  produce 
seems  to  have  been  almost  constantly  on  the  increase 
during  the  seventeenth  century.  The  Mexican  mines 
were,  through  the  reigns  of  Philip  the  Fourth  and 
Charles  the  Second,  in  a  steady  course  of  improvement ; 
and  in  South  America,  though  the  district  of  Potosi 
was  not  so  productive  as  formerly,  other  places  more 
than  made  up  for  the  deficiency.  We  very  much 
doubt  whether  Lord  Mahon  can  prove  that  the  income 
vh'ch  the  Spanish  government  derived  from  the  mines 


86  LOKD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

of  America  fluctuated  more  than  the  income  derive 3 
from  the  internal  taxes  of  Spain  itself. 

All  the  causes  of  the  decay  of  Spain  resolve  them- 
selves into  one  cause,  bad  government.  The  valour, 
the  intelligence,  the  energy  which,  at  the  close  of  the 
fifteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
had  made  the  Spaniards  the  first  nation  in  the  world, 
were  the  fruits  of  the  old  institutions  of  Castile  and 
Arragon,  institutions  eminently  favourable  to  public 
liberty.  Those  institutions  the  first  Princes  of  the 
House  of  Austria  attacked  and  almost  wholly  destroyed. 
Their  successors  expiated  the  crime.  The  effects  of  a 
change  from  good  government  to  bad  government  is 
not  fully  felt  for  some  time  after  the  change  has  taken 
place.  The  talents  and  the  virtues  which  a  good  con- 
stitution generates  may  for  a  time  survive  that  consti- 
tution. Thus  the  reigns  of  princes  who  have  estab- 
lished absolute  monarchy  on  the  ruins  of  popular  forms 
of  government  often  shine  in  history  with  a  peculiar 
brilliancy.  But  when  a  generation  or  two  has  passed 
away,  then  comes  signally  to  pass  that  which  was 
written  by  Montesquieu,  that  despotic  governments 
resemble  those  savages  who  cut  down  the  tree  in  order 
to  get  at  the  fruit.  During  the  first  years  of  tyranny, 
is  reaped  the  harvest  sown  during  the  last  years  of 
liberty.  Tims  the  Augustan  age  was  rich  in  great 
minds  formed  in  the  generation  of  Cicero  and  Caesar. 
The  fruits  of  the  policy  of  Augustus  were  reserved  for 
posterity.  Philip  the  Second  was  the  heir  of  the 
Cortez  and  of  the  Justiza  Mayor  ;  and  they  left  him  a 
nation  which  seemed  able  to  conquer  all  the  world. 
What  Philip  left  to  his  successors  is  well  known. 

The  shock  which  the  great  religious  schism  of  the 
sixteenth  century  gave  to  Europe,  was  scarcely  felt 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  8" 

in  Spain.  In  England,  Germany,  Holland,  France, 
Denmark,  Switzerland,  Sweden,  that  shock  had  pro- 
duced, with  some  temporary  evil,  much  durable  good. 
The  principles  of  the  Reformation  had  triumphed  in 
some  of  those  countries.  The  Catholic  Church  had 
maintained  its  ascendency  in  others.  But  though  the 
event  had  not  been  the  same  in  all,  all  had  been  agi 
tated  by  the  conflict.  Even  in  France,  in  Southern 
Germany,  and  in  the  Catholic  cantons  of  Switzerland, 
the  public  mind  had  been  stirred  to  its  inmost  depths. 
The  hold  of  ancient  prejudice  had  been  somewhat  loos- 
ened. The  Church  of  Rome,  warned  by  the  danger 
which  she  had  narrowly  escaped,  had,  in  those  parts  of 
her  dominion,  assumed  a  milder  and  more  liberal  char- 
acter. She  sometimes  condescended  to  submit  her  high 
pretensions  to  the  scrutiny  of  reason,  and  availed  herself 
more  sparingly  than  in  former  times  of  the  aid  of  the 
secular  arm.  Even  when  persecution  was  employed, 
it  was  not  persecution  in  the  worst  and  most  frightful 
shape.  The  severities  of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth,  odious 
as  they  were,  cannot  be  compared  with  those  which, 
at  the  first  dawn  of  the  Reformation,  had  .been  inflicted 
on  the  heretics  in  many  parts  of  Europe. 

The  only  effect  which  the  Reformation  had  produced 
in  Spain  had  been  to  make  the  Inquisition  more  vigi- 
lant and  the  commonalty  more  bigoted.  The  times  of 
refreshing  came  to  all  neighbouring  countries.  One 
people  alone  remained,  like  the  fleece  of  the  Hebrew 
warrior,  dry  in  the  midst  of  that  benignant  and  fertil- 
ising dew.  While  other  nations  were  putting  away 
-hildish  things,  the  Spaniard  still  thought  as  a  child 
and  understood  as  a  child.  Among  the  men  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  he  was  the  man  of  the  fifteenth 


88  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

century  or  of  a  still  darker  period,  delighted  to  behold 
an  Auto  dafe,  and  ready  to  volunteer  on  a  Crusade. 

The  evils  produced  by  a  bad  government  and  a  bad 
religion,  seemed  to  have  attained  their  greatest  height 
during  the  last  years  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
While  the  kingdom  was  in  this  deplorable  state,  the 
King,  Charles,  second  of  the  name,  was  hastening  to 
an  early  grave.  His  days  had  been  few  and  evil.  He 
had  been  unfortunate  in  all  his  wars,  in  every  part  of 
his  internal  administration,  and  in  all  his  domestic 
relations.  His  first  wife,  whom  he  tenderly  loved, 
died  veiy  young.  His  second  wife  exercised  great 
influence  over  him,  but  seems  to  have  been  regarded 
by  him  rather  with  fear  than  with  love.  He  was 
childless ;  and  his  constitution  was  so  completely  shat- 
tered that,  at  little  more  than  thirty  years  of  age,  he 
had  given  up  all  hopes  of  posterity.  His  mind  was 
even  more  distempered  than  his  body.  He  was  some- 
times sunk  in  listless  melancholy,  and  sometimes  ha- 
rassed by  the  wildest  and  most  extravagant  fancies: 
He  was  not,  howrever,  wholly  destitute  of  the  feelings 
which  became  his  station.  His  sufferings  were  aggra- 
vated by  the  thought  that  his  own  dissolution  might 
not  improbably  be  followed  by  the  dissolution  of  his 
empire. 

Several  princes  laid  claim  to  the  succession.  The 
King's  eldest  sister  had  married  Lewis  the  Fourteenth. 
The  Dauphin  would,  therefore,  in  the  common  course 
of  inheritance,  have  succeeded  to  the  crown.  But  the 
Infanta  had,  at  the  time  of  her  espousals,  solemnly  r<v 
nounced,  in  her  own  name,  and  in  that  of  her  pos- 
terity, all  claim  to  the  succession.  This  renunciation 
had  been  confirmed  in  due  form  by  the  Cortes.  A 
younger  sister  of  the  King  had  been  the  first  wife  of 


THE   SUCCESSION  IN  SPAEST.  89 

Leopold,  Emperor  of  Germany.  She  too  had  at  her 
marriage  renounced  her  claims  to  the  Spanish  cro\vn  ; 
but  the  Cortes  had  not  sanctioned  the  renunciation, 
and  it  was  therefore  considered  as  invalid  by  the  Span- 
ish jurist?.  The  fruit  of  this  marriage  was  a  daughter, 
who  had  espoused  the  Elector  of  Bavaria.  The  Elec- 
toral Prince  of  Bavaria  inherited  her  claim  to  the 
throne  of  Spain.  The  Emperor  Leopold  was  son  of 
a  daughter  of  Philip  the  Third,  and  was  therefore  first 
cousin  to  Charles.  No  renunciation  whatever  had 
been  exacted  from  his  mother  at  the  time  of  her  mar- 
riage. 

The  question  was  certainly  very  complicated.  That 
claim  which,  according  to  the  ordinary  rules  of  inher- 
itance, was  the  strongest,  had  been  barred  by  a  con- 
tract executed  in  the  most  binding  form.  The  claim 
of  the  Electoral  Prince  of  Bavaria  was  weaker.  But 
so  also  was  the  contract  which  bound  him  not  to  pros- 
ecute his  claim.  The  only  party  against  whom  no 
instrument  of  renunciation  could  be  produced  was  the 
party  who,  in  respect  of  blood,  had  the  weakest  claim 
of  all. 

As  it  was  clear  that  great  alarm  would  be  excited 
throughout  Europe  if  either  the  Emperor  or  the  Dau- 
phin should  become  King  of  Spain,  each  of  those 
Princes  offered  to  waive  his  pretensions  in  favour  of 
his  second  son  ;  the  Emperor,  in  favour  of  the  Arch- 
duke Charles,  the  Dauphin,  in  favour  of  Philip  Duke 
of  Anjon. 

Soon  after  the  peace  of  Ryswick,  William  the  Third 
and  Lev-is  the  Fourteenth  determined  to  settle  the 
question  of  the  sitccession  without  consulting  either 
Charles  or  the  Emperor.  France,  England,  and  Hol- 
land, became  parties  to  a  treaty  by  which  it  was  stip- 


90  LORD  HAIION'S  WAK  OF 

ulated  that  the  Electoral  Prince  of  Bavaria  should 
succeed  to  Spain,  the  Indies,  and  the  Netherlands. 
The  Imperial  family  were  to  be  bought  off  with  the 
Milanese ;  and  the  Dauphin  was  to  have  the  Two 
Sicilies. 

The  great  object  of  the  King  of  Spain  and  of  all  his 
counsellors  was  to  avert  the  dismemberment  of  the 
monarchy.  In  the  hope  of  attaining  this  end,  Charles 
determined  to  name  a  successor.  A  will  was  accord- 
ingly framed  by  which  the  crown  was  bequeathed  to 
the  Bavarian  Prince.  Unhappily,  this  will  had  scarcely 
been  signed  when  the  Prince  died.  The  question  was 
again  unsettled,  and  presented  greater  difficulties  than 
before. 

A  new  Treaty  of  Partition  was  concluded  between 
France,  England,  and  Holland.  It  was  agreed  that 
Spain,  the  Indies,  and  the  Netherlands,  should  descend 
to  the  Archduke  Charles.  In  return  for  this  great 
concession  made  by  the  Bourbons  to  a  rival  house,  it 
was  agreed  that  France  should  have  the  Milanese,  or 
an  equivalent  in  a  more  commodious  situation.  The 
equivalent  in  view  was  the  province  of  Lorraine. 

Arbutlmot,  some  years  later,  ridiculed  the  Partition 
Treaty  with  exquisite  humour  and  ingenuity.  Every- 
body must  remember  his  description  of  the  paroxysm 
of  rage  into  which  poor  old  Lord  Strutt  fell,  on  hear- 
ing that  his  runaway  servant  Nick  Frog,  his  clothier 
John  Bullr  and  his  old  enemy  Lewis  Baboon,  had 
come  with  quadrants,  poles,  and  irikhorns,  to  survey 
his  estate,  and  to  draw  his  will  for  him.  Lord  Mahon 
speaks  of  the  arrangement  with  grave  severity.  He 
calls  it,  "  an  iniquitous  compact,  concluded  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  the  welfare  of  the  states  so  readily 
parcelled  and  allotted  ;  insulting  to  the  pride  of  Spaio 


THE  SUCCESSION  IX  SPAIN.  91 

•md  tending  to  strip  that  country  of  its  hard-won  con- 
quests." The  most  serious  part  of  this  charge  would 
apply  to  half  the  treaties  which  have  been  concluded 
in  Europe  quite  as  strongly  as  to  the  Partition  Treaty. 
What  regard  was  shown  in  the  treaty  of  the  Pyrenees 
to  the  welfare  of  the  people  of  Dunkirk  and  Roussillon, 
in  the  treaty  of  Nimeguen  to  the  welfare  of  the  people 
of  Franche  Comte,  in  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  to  the  wel- 
fare of  the  people  of  Flanders,  in  the  treaty. of  1735  to 
the  welfare  of  the  people  of  Tuscany  ?  All  Europe 
remembers,  and  our  latest  posterity  will,  we  fear,  have 
reason  to  remember  how  coolly,  at  the  last  great  pacifi- 
cation of  Christendom,  the  people  of  Poland,  of  Nor- 
way, of  Belgium,  and  of  Lombardy,  were  allotted  to 
masters  whom  they  abhorred.  The  statesmen  who 
negotiated  the  Partition  Treaty  were  not  so  far  beyond 
their  age  and  ours  in  wisdom  and  virtue  as  to  trouble 
themselves  much  about  the  happiness  of  the  people 
whom  they  were  apportioning  among  foreign  rulers. 
But  it  will  be  difficult  to  prove  that  the  stipulations 
which  Lord  Mahon  condemns  were  in  any  respect 
unfavourable  to  the  happiness  of  those  who  were  to  be 
transferred  to  new  sovereigns.  The  Neapolitans  would 
certainly  have  lost  nothing  by  being  given  to  the  Dau- 
phin, or  to  the  Great  Turk.  Addison,  who  visited 
Naples  about  the  time  at  which  the  Partition  Treaty 
was  signed,  has  left  us  a  frightful  description  of  the 
misgovernment  under  which  that  part  of  the  Spanish 
Empire  groaned.  As  to  the  people  of  Lorraine,  an 
union  with  France  would  have  been  the  happiest  event 
which  could  have  befallen  them.  Lewis  was  already 
Vheir  sovereign  for  all  purposes  of  cruelty  and  exaction, 
He  had  kept  their  country  during  many  years  in  hig 
awn  hands.  At  the  peace  of  Ryswick,  indeed,  their 


92  LORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 

Duke  hud  been  allowed  to  return.  But  the  conditions 
which  had  been  imposed  on  him  made  Irim  a  mere  vas- 
sal of  France. 

We  cannot  admit  that  the  Treaty  of  Partition  was 
objectionable  because  it  "  tended  to  strip  Spain  of 
hard-won  conquests."  The  inheritance  Avas  so  vast, 
and  the  claimants  so  mighty,  that  without  some  dis- 
memberment it  was  scarcely  possible  to  make  a  peace- 
able arrangement.  If  any  dismemberment  was  to  take 
place,  the  best  way  of  effecting  it  surely  was  to  sepa- 
rate from  the  monarchy  those  provinces  which  were 
at  a  great  distance  from  Spain,  which  were  not  Spanish 
in  manners,  in  language,  or  in  feelings,  which  were 
both  worse  governed  and  less  valuable  than  the  old 
kingdoms  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  and  which,  having 
always  been  governed  by  foreigners,  would  not  be 
likely  to  feel  acutely  the  humiliation  of  being  turned 
over  from  one  master  to  another. 

That  England  and  Holland  had  a  right  to  interfere 
is  plain.  The  question  of  the  Spanish  succession  was 
not  an  internal  question,  but  an  European  question. 
And  this  Lord  Mali  on  admits.  He  thinks  that  when 
the  evil  had  been  done,  and  a  French  Prince  was 
reigning  at  the  Escurial,  England  and  Holland  were 
justified  in  attempting,  not  merely  to  strip  Spain  of 
its  remote  dependencies,  but  to  conquer  Spain  itself; 
that  they  were  justified  in  attempting  to  put,  not 
merely  the  passive  Flemings  and  Italians,  but  the 
.•eluctant  Castilians  and  Asturians,  under  the  dominion 
of  a  stranger.  The  danger  against  which  the  Parti- 
tion Treaty  was  intended  to  gu'trd  was  precisely  the 
*ame  danger  which  afterwards  was  made  the  ground 
of  war.  It  will  be  difficult  to  prove  that  a  dangei 
which  wa.s  sufficient  to  just-'fy  the  war  was  insufficient 


THE  SUCCESSION  13   SPAIX.  03 

K>  justify  the  provisions  of  the  treaty.  If,  as  Lord 
Mahon  contends,  it  was  better  that  Spain  should  be 
subjugated  by  main  force  than  that  she  should  be 
governed  by  a  Bourbon,  it  was  surely  better  that  she 
should  be  deprived  of  Sicily  and  the  Milanese  than 
that  she  should  be  governed  by  a  Bourbon. 

f 

Whether  the  treaty  was  judiciously  framed  is  quite 
another  question.  We  disapprove  of  the  stipulations. 
But  we  disapprove  of  them,  not  because  we  think 
them  bad,  but  because  we  think  that  there  was  no 
shance  of  their  being  executed.  Lewis  was  the  most 
faithless  of  politicians.  He  hated  the  Dutch.  He 
hated  the  Government  which  the  Revolution  had 
established  in  England.  He  had  every  disposition  to 
quarrel  with  his  new  allies.  It  was  quite  certain  that 
he  would  not  observe  his  engagements,  if  it  should 
be  for  his  interest  to  violate  them.  Even  if  it  should 
be  for  his  interest  to  observe  them,  it  might  well  bo 
doubted  whether  the  strongest  and  clearest  intere'-t 
would  induce  ,  a  man  so  haughty  and  self-willed  aj 
cooperate  heartily  with  two  governments  which,  had 
always  been  the  objects  of  his  scorn  and  aversion. 

When  intelligence  of  the  second  Partition  Treaty 
arrived  at  Madrid,  it  roused  to  momentary  energy 
the  languishing  ruler  of  a  languishing  state.  The 
Spanish  ambassador  at  the  court  of  London  was 
directed  to  remonstrate  with  the  government  cf  Wil- 
liam ;  and  his  remonstrances  were  so  insolent  that 
ho  was  commanded  to  leave  England.  Charles  re- 
taliated by  dismissing  the  English  and  Dutch  ambas- 
sadors. The  Freuch  King,  though  the  chief  author 
\)f  the  Partition  Treaty,  succeeded  in  turning  the 
whole  wrath  of  Charles  and  of  the  Spanish  people 
from  himself,  and  in  directing  it  against  the  two  mari. 


94  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

time  powers.  Those  powers  had  noAv  no  agent  at 
Madrid.  Their  perfidious  ally  was  at  liberty  to  carry 
on  his  intrigues  unchecked  ;  and  ho  fully  availed  him- 
self of  this  advantage. 

A  long  contest  was  maintained  with  varying  success 
by  the  factions  which  surrounded  the  miserable  King. 
On  the  side  of  the  Imperial  family  was  the  Queen, 
herself  a  Princess  of  that  family.  With  her  were 
allied  the  confessor  of  the  King,  and  most  of  the 
ministers.  On  the  other  side  were  two  of  the  most 
dexterous  politicians  of  that  age,  Cardinal  Porto  Car- 
rero,  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  and  Harcourt  the  ambas- 
sador of  Lewis. 

Harcourt  was  a  noble  specimen  of  the  French  aris- 
tocracy in  the  days  of  its  highest  splendour,  a  finished 
gentleman,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  skilful  diplomatist. 
His  courteous  and  insinuating  manners,  his  Parisian 
vivacity  tempered  with  Castilian  gravity,  made  him 
the  favourite  of  the  whole  court.  He  became  intimate 
with  the  grandees.  He  caressed  the  clergy.  He 
dazzled  the  multitude  by  his  magnificent  style  of 
living.  The  prejudices  which  the  people  of  Madrid 
conceived  against  the  French  character,  the  vindictive 
feelings  generated  during  centuries  of  national  rivalry, 
gradually  yielded  to  his  arts ;  while  the  Austrian 
Ambassador,  a  surly,  pompous,  niggardly  German, 
;nade  himself  and  his  country  more  and  more  un- 
popular every  day. 

Harcourt  won  over  the  court  and  the  city :  Porto 
Carrero  managed  the  King.  Never  were  knave  and 
dupe  better  suited  to  each  other.  Charles  was  sick, 
nervous,  and  extravagantly  superstitious.  Porto  Car- 
rero had  learned  in  the  exercise  of  his  profession  the 
art  of  exciting  and  soothing  such  minds ;  and  ho 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  95 

employed  tliat  art  witli  the  calm  and  demure  cruelty 
which  is  the  characteristic  of  wicked  and  ambitious 
priests. 

He  first  supplanted  the  confessor.  The  state  of 
the  poor  King,  during  the  conflict  between  his  two 
spiritual  advisers,  was  horrible.  At  one  time  he  was 
induced  to  believe  that  his  malady  was  the  same  with 
that  of  the  wretches  described  in  the  New  Testament, 
who  d\velt  among  the  tombs,  whom  no  chains  could 
bind,  and  whom  no  man  dared  to  approach.  At 
another  time  a  sorceress  who  lived  in  the  mountains 
of  the  Asturias  Avas  consulted  about  his  malady. 
Several  persons  were  accused  of  having  bewitched 
him.  Porto  Carrero  recommended  the  appalling  rite 
of  exorcism,  which  was  actually  performed.  The 
3eremony  made  the  poor  King  more  nervous  and 
miserable  than  ever.  But  it  served  the  turn  of  the 
Cardinal  who,  after  much  secret  trickery,  succeeded^ 
in  casting  out,  not  the  devil,  but  the  confessor. 

The  next  object  was  to  get  rid  of  the  Ministers 
Madrid  was  supplied  with  provisions  by  a  monopoly. 
The  government  looked  after  this  most  delicate  con- 
cern as  it  looked  after  every  thing  else.  The  partisans 
of  the  House  of  Bourbon  took  advantage  of  the  neg- 
ligence of  the  administration.  On  a  sudden  the  sup- 
nly  of  food  failed.  Exorbitant  prices  were  demanded. 
The  people  rose.  The  royal  residence  was  surrounded 
by  an  immense  multitude.  The  Queen  harangued 
them.  The  priests  exhibited  the  host.  All  was  in 
vain.  It  was  necessary  to  awaken  the  King  from  his 
aneasy  sleep,  and  to  carry  him  to  the  balcony.  There 
A  solemn  promise  was  given  that  the  unpopular  ad- 
visers of  the  crown  should  be  forthwith  dismissed. 
The  mob  left  the  palace  and  proceeded  to  pull  down 


96  LOUD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

the  houses  of  the  ministers.  The  adherents  of  the 
Austrian  line  were  thus  driven  from  power,  and  the 
government  was  intrusted  to  the  creatures  of  Porto 
Carrero.  The  King  left  the  city  in  which  he  had  suf- 
fered so  cruel  an  insult  for  the  magnificent  retreat  of 
the  Escurial.  Here  his  hypochondriac  fancy  took  a 
new  turn.  Like  his  ancestor  Charles  the  Fifth,  he 
was  haunted  by  a  strange  curiosity  to  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  that  grave  to  which  he  was  hastening.  In 
the  cemetery  which.  Philip  the  Second  had  formed 
beneath  the  pavement  of  the  church  of  St.  Lawrence, 
reposed  three  generations  of  Castilian  princes.  Into 
these  dark  vaults  the  unhappy  monarch  descended  by 
torch-light,  and  penetrated  to  that  superb  and  gloomy 
chamber  where,  round  the  great  black  crucifix,  were 
ranged  the  coffins  of  the  kings  and  queens  of  Spain. 
There  he  commanded  his  attendants  to  open  the  massy 
chests  of  bronze  in  which  the  relics  of  his  predecessors 
decayed.  He  looked  on  the  ghastly  spectacle  with  lit- 
tle emotion  till  the  coffin  of  his  first  wife  was  unclosed, 
and  she  appeared  before  him — such  was  the  skill  of 
the  embalmer  —  in  all  her  well-remembered  beauty. 
He  cast  one  glance  on  those  beloved  features,  unseen 
for  eighteen,  years,  those  features  over  which  corrup- 
tion seemed  to  have  no  power,  and  rushed  from  the 
vault,  exclaiming,  "  She  is  with  God  ;  and  I  shall  soon 
be  with  her."  The  awful  sight  completed  the  ruin 
of  his  body  and  mind.  The  Escurial  became  hateful 
to  him ;  and  he  hastened  to  Aranjuez.  But  the  shades 
and  waters  of  that  delicious  island-garden,  so  fondly 
celebrated  in  the  sparkling  verse  of  Calderon,  brought 
no  solace  to  their  unfortunate  master.  Having  trieu 
medicine,  exercise,  and  amusement  in  vain,  he  returnee 
to  Madrid  to  die. 


TIIE  SUCCESSION   IN  SPAIN.  97 

He  was  now  beset  on  every  side  by  the  buld  and 
skilful  agents  of  the  House  of  Bourbon.  The  leading 
politicians  of  his  court  assured  him  that  Lewis,  and 
Lewis  alone,  was  sufficiently  powerful  to  preserve  the 
Spanish  monarchy  undivided,  and  that  Austria  would 
be  utterly  unable  to  prevent  the  Treaty  of  Partition 
from  being  carried  into  effect.  Some  celebrated  law- 
yers gave  it  as  their  opinion  that  the  act  of  renuncia- 
tion executed  by  the  late  Queen  of  France  ought  to 
be  construed  according  to  the  spirit,  and  not  according 
to  the  letter.  The  letter  undoubtedly  excluded  the 
French  Princes.  The  spirit  was  merely  this,  that 
ample  security  should  be  taken  against  the  union  of 
the  French  and  Spanish  crowns  on  one  head. 

In  all  probability,  neither  political  nor  legal  reason 
ings  would  have  sufficed  to  overcome  the  partiality 
which  Charles  felt  for  the  House  of  Austria.  There 
had  always  been  a  close  connection  between  the  two 
great  royal  lines  which  sprang  from  the  marriage  of 
Philip  and  Juana.  Both  had  always  regarded  the 
French  as  their  natural  enemies.  It  was  necessary 
to  have  recourse  to  religious  terrors ;  and  Porto  Car- 
rero  employed  those  terrors  with  true  professional  skill. 
The  King's  life  was  drawing  to  a  close.  Would  the 

o  o 

most  Catholic  prince  commit  a  great  sin  on  the  brink 
of  the  grave  ?  And  what  could  be  a  greater  sin  than, 
from  an  unreasonable  attachment  to  a  family  name, 
from  an  unchristian  antipathy  to  a  rival  house,  to  set 
aside  the  rightful  heir  of  an  immense  monarchy?  The 
tender  conscience  and  the  feeble  intellect  of  Charles 
were  strongly  wrought  upon  by  these  appeals.  At 
length  Porto  Carrero  ventured  on  a  master-stroke. 
He  advised  Charles  to  apply  for  counsel  to  the  Pope. 
The  King  who,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  consid 


88  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

ered  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  as  an  infallible  guide 
in  spiritual  matters,  adopted  the  suggestion  ;  and  Porto 
Carrero,  who  knew  that  his  Holiness  was  a  mere  tool 
of  France,  awaited  with  perfect  confidence  the  result 
of  the  application.  In  the  answer  which  arrived  from 
Rome,  the  King  was  solemnly  reminded  of  the  great 
account  which  he  was  soon  to  render,  and  cautioned 
against  the  flagrant  injustice  which  he  was  tempted  to 
commit.  He  was  assured  that  the  right  was  with  the 
House  of  Bourhon,  and  reminded  that  his  own  salva- 
tion ought  to  Le  dearer  to  him  than  the  House  of  Aus- 
tria. Yet  he  still  continued  irresolute.  His  attach- 
ment to  his  family,  his  aversion  to  France,  were  not  to 
be  overcome  even  by  Papal  authority.  At  length  he 
thought  himself  actually  dying.  Then  the  cardinal 
redoubled  his  efforts.  Divine  after  divine,  well  tu- 
tored for  the  occasion,  was  brought  to  the  bed  of  the 
trembling  penitent.  He  was  dying  in  the  commission 
of  known  sin.  He  was  defrauding  his  relatives.  He 
was  bequeathing  civil  war  to  his  people.  He  yielded, 
and  signed  that  memorable  Testament,  the  cause  of 
many  calamities  to  Europe.  As  he  affixed  his  name 
to  the  Instrument,  he  burst  into  tears.  "  God,"  he 
said,  "  gives  kingdoms  and  takes  them  away.  I  am 
already  one  of  the  dead." 

The  will  was  kept  secret  during  the  short  remainder 
of  his  life.  On  the  third  of  November  1700  he  ex- 
pired. All  Madrid  crowded  to  the  palace.  The  gates 
were  thronged.  The  antechamber  was  filled  writh  am- 
bassadors and  grandees,  eager  to  learn  what  dispositions 
the  deceased  sovereign  had  made.  At  length  the  fold- 
fag  doors  were  flung  open.  The  Duke  of  Abrantea 
came  forth,  and  announced  that  the  whole  Spanish 
monarchy  was  bequeathed  to  Philip  Duke  of  Anjou 


THE  SUCCESSION    ;N   SPAIN.  99 

Charles  had  directed  that,  during  the  interval  which 
might  elapse  between  his  death  and  the  arrival  of  liig 
successor,  the  government  should  be  administered  by  a 
council,  of  which  Porto  Carrero  was  the  chief  member. 

Lewis  acted,  as  the  English  ministers  might  have 
guessed  that  he  would  act.  With  scarcely  the  show  of 
hesitation,  he  broke  through  all  the  obligations  of  tL 
Partition  Treaty,  and  accepted  for  his  grandson  the 
splendid  legacy  of  Charles.  The  new  sovereign  hast- 
ened to  take  possession  of  his  dominions.  The  whole 
court  of  France  accompanied  him  to  Sceaux.  His 
brothers  escorted  him  to  that  frontier  which,  as  they 
weakly  imagined,  was  to  be  a  frontier  no  longer.  "  The 
Pyrenees,"  said  Lewis,  "  have  ceased  to  exist."  Those 
very  Pyrenees,  a  few  years  later,  were  the  theatre  of  a 
war  between  the  heir  of  Lewis  and  the  prince  whom 
France  Avas  now  sending  to  govern  Spain. 

If  Charles  had  ransacked  Europe  to  find  a  successor 
whose  moral  and  intellectual  character  resembled  his 
own,  Tie  could  not  have  chosen  better.  Philip  was  not 
so  sickly  as  his  predecessor,  but  he  was  quite  as  weak, 
as  indolent,  and  as  superstitious ;  he  very  soon  became 
quite  as  hypochondriacal  and  eccentric ;  and  he  was 
even  more  uxorious.  He  was  indeed  a  husband  of  ten 
thousand.  His  first  object  when  he  became  King  of 
Spain,  was  to  procure  a  wife.  From  the  day  of  his 
marriage  to  the  day  of  her  death,  his  first  object  was  to 
have  her  near  him,  and  to  do  what  she  wished.  As 
soon  as  his  wife  died  his  first  object  was  to  procure  an- 
other. Another  was  found  as  unlike  the  former  as 
possible.  But  slie  was  a  wife  ;  and  Philip  was  content. 
Neither  by  day  nor  by  night,  neither  in  sickness  nor  in 
health,  neither  in  time  of  business  nor  in  time  of  relax- 
ation, did  he  ever  suffer  her  to  be  absent  from  him  foi 


100  LORD  MAIION'S   WAR  OF 

half  an  hour.  His  mind  was  naturally  feeble  ;  and  lie 
had  received  an  enfeebling  education.  He  had  been 
brought  up  amidst 'the  dull  magnificence  of  Versailles' . 
His  grandfather  was  as  imperious  and  as  ostentatious 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  royal  family  as  in  public  acts. 
All  those  who  grew  up  immediately  under  the  eye  of 
Lewis  had  the  manners  of  persons  who  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  be  at  ease.  They  were  all  taci- 
turn, shy,  and  awkward.  In  all  of  them,  except  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  evil  went  further  than  the 
manners.  The  Dauphin,  the  Duke  of  Berri,  Philip  of 
Anjou,  were  men  of  insignificant  characters.  They 
had  no  energy,  no  force  of  will.  They  had  been  so 
little  accustomed  to  judge  or  to  act  for  themselves  that 
implicit  dependence  had  become  necessary  to  their  com- 
fort. The  new  King  of  Spain,  emancipated  from  con- 
trol, resembled  that  wretched  German  captive  Avho, 
when  the  irons  which  he  had  worn  for  yeai*s  were 
knocked  off,  fell  prostrate  on  the  floor  of  his  prison. 
The  restraints  which  had  enfeebled  the  mind'of  the 
young  Prince  were  required  to  support  it.  Till  he  had 
a  wife  he  could  do  nothing  ;  and  when  he  had  a  wife 
he  did  whatever  she  chose. 

While  this  lounging,  moping  boy  was  on  his  way  to 
Madrid,  his  grandfather  was  all  activity.  Lewis  had 
no  reason  to  fear  a  contest  with  the  Empire  single- 
handed.  He  made  vigorous  preparations  to  encounter 
Leopold.  He  overawed  the  States-General  by  means 
of  a  great  army.  He  attempted  to  soothe  the  English 
government  by  fair  professions.  William  was  not  de- 
ceived. He  fully  returned  the  hatretl  of  Lewis ;  and, 
tf  he  had  been  free  to  act  according  to  his  own  in- 
clinations, he  would  have  declared  war  as  soon  as  the 
contents  of  the  will  werr  known.  But  he  was  bounq 


i'HE  SUCCESSION  IN   SPAIN.  101 

by  constitutional  restraints.  Both  his  person  and  his 
measures  were  unpopular  in  England.  His  secluded 
life  and  his  cold  manners  disgusted  a  people  accustomed 
to  the  graceful  affability  of  Charles  the  Second.  His 
foreign  accent  and  his  foreign  attachments  were  offen- 
sive to  the  national  prejudices.  His  reign  had  been  a 
season  of  distress,  following  a  season  of  rapidly  increas- 
ing prosperity.  The  burdens  of  the  late  war  and  the 
expense  of  restoring  the  currency  had  been  severely 
felt.  Nine  clergymen  out  of  ten  were  Jacobites  at 
heart,  and  had  sworn  allegiance  to  the  new  dynasty, 
only  in  order  to  save  their  benefices.  A  large  propor- 
tion of  the  country  gentlemen  belonged  to  the  same 
party.  The  Avhole  body  of  agricultural  proprietors  was 
hostile  to  that  interest  which  the  creation  of  the  na- 
tional debt  had  brought  into  notice,  and  which  was  be- 
lieved to  be  peculiarly  favoured  by  the  Court,  the  mon- 
ied  interest.  The  middle  classes  were  fully  determined 
to  keep  out  James  and  his  family.  But  they  regarded 
William  only  as  the  less  of  two  evils  ;  and  as  long  as 
there  was  no  imminent  danger  of  a  counter-revolution, 
were  disposed  to  thwart  and  mortify  the  sovereign  by 
whom  they  were,  nevertheless,  ready  to  stand,  in  case 
of  necessity,  with  their  lives  and  fortunes.  They  were 
sullen  and  dissatisfied.  "  There  was,"  as  Somers  ex- 
pressed it  in  a  remarkable  letter  to  William,  "  a  dead- 
ness  and  want  of  spirit  in  the  nation  universally." 

Every  thing  in  England  was  going  on  as  Lewis  conld 
have  wished.  The  leaders  of  the  Whig  party  had  re- 
tired from  power,  and  were  extremely  unpopular  on 
account  of  the  unfortunate  issue  of  the  Partition 
Treaty.  The  Tories,  some  of  whom  still  cast  a  lingering 
took  towards  St.  Germain's,  were  in  office,  and  had  a 
decided  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons.  William 

UB3ARY 


\02 


LORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 


was  so  much  embarrassed  by  the  state  of  parties  in 
England  that  he  could  not  venture  to  make  wai  on  the 
House  of  Bourbon.  He  was  suffering  under  a  compli- 
cation of  severe  and  incurable  diseases.  There  was 
every  reason  to  believe  tnat  a  few  months  would  dis- 
solve the  fragile  tie  which  bound  up  that  feeble  body 
with  that  ardent  and  unconquerable  soul.  If  Lewis 
could  succeed  in  preserving  peace  for  a  short  time,  it 
was  probable  that  all  his  vast  designs  woiild  be  securely 
accomplished.  Just  at  this  crisis,  the  most  important 
crisis  of  his  life,  his  pride  and  his  passions  hurried  him 
into  an  error,  which  undid  all  that  forty  years  of  vic- 
tory and  intrigue  had  done,  which  produced  the  dis- 
memberment of  the  kingdom  of  his  grandson,  and 
brought  invasion,  bankruptcy,  and  famine  on  his  own. 

James  the  Second  died  at  St.  Germain's.  Lewis 
paid  him  a  fare  w  ell  visit,  and  was  so  much  moved  by 
the  solemn  parting,  and  by  the  grief  of  the  exiled 
queen,  that,  losing  sight  of  all  considerations  of  policy, 
and  actuated,  as  it  should  seem,  merely  by  compassion 
and  by  a  not  ungenerous  vanity,  he  acknowledged  the 
Prince  of  Wales  as  King  of  England. 

The  indignation  which  the  Castilians  had  felt  when 
they  heard  that  three  foreign  powers  had  undertaker 
to  regulate  the  Spanish  succession  was  nothing  to  the 
rage  with  which  the  English  learned  that  their  good 
neighbour  ha*d  taken  the  trouble  to  provide  them  with 
a  king.  Whigs  and  Tories  joined  in  condemning  the 
proceedings  of  the  French  Court.  The  cry  for  war 
was  raised  by  the  city  of  London,  and  echoed  and 
reechoed  from  every  corner  of  the  realm.  William 
saw  that  his  time  was  come.  Though  his  wasted 
and  suffering  body  could  hardly  move  without  sup- 
Dort,  liis  spirit  was  as  energetic  and  resolute  as  when, 


^ 

: 


THE  SUCCESSION  LS    SPAIN.  10 J 

at  twenty-tliree,  lie  bade  defiance  to  the  combined 
forces  of  England  and  France.  He  left  the  Hague, 
where  he  had  been  engaged  in  negotiating  with  the 
States  and  the  Emperor  a  defensive  treaty  against 
the  ambitious  designs  of  the  Bourbons.  He  flew  to 
London.  He  remodelled  the  ministry.  He  dissolved 
the  Parliament.  The  majority  of  the  new  House  of 
Commons  was  with  the  King ;  and  the  most  vigoious 
preparations  were  made  for  Avar. 

Before  the  commencement  of  active  hostilities  Wil- 
liam was  no  more.  But  the  Grand  Alliance  of  the 
European  Princes  against  the  Bourbons  was  already 
constructed.  "  The  master  workman  died,"  says  Mr. 
Burke  ;  "  but  the  work  was  formed  on  true  mechanical 
principles,  and  it  was  as  truly  wrought."  On  the 
fifteenth  of  May,  1702,  war  was  proclaimed  by  concert 
at  Vienna,  at  London,  and  at  the  Hague. 

Thus  commenced  that  great  struggle  by  which 
Europe,  from  the  Vistula  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  was 
agitated  during  twelve  years.  The  two  hostile  coali- 
tions were,  in  respect  of  territory,  wealth,  and  popu- 
lation, not  unequally  matched.  On  the  one  side  were 
France,  Spain,  and  Bavaria  ^  on  the  other  England, 
Holland,  the  Empire,  and  a  crowd  of  inferior  Powers. 

That  part  of  the  war  which  Lord  Mahon  has  under- 
taken to  relate,  though  not  the  least  important,  is 
certainly  the  least  attractive.  In  Italy,  in  Germany, 
and  in  the  Netherlands,  great  means  were  at  the 
disposal  of  great  generals.  Mighty  battles  were  fought. 
Fortress  after  fortress  was  subdued.  The  iron  chain 
of  the  Belgian  strongholds  was  broken.  By  a  regular 
and  connected  series  of  operations  extending  through 
several  years,  the  French  were  iriven  back  from  the 
Oanube  and  the  Po  into  thoir  own  provinces.  The 


104  LORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 

war  in  Spain,  on  the  contrary,  is  made  up  of  events 
which  seem  to  have  ,110  dependence  on  each  other 
The  turns  of  fortune  resemble  those  which  take  place 
in  a  dream.  Victory  and  defeat  are  not  followed  by 
their  usual  consequences.  Annies  spring  out  of  nothing, 
and  melt  into  nothing.  Yet,  to  judicious  readers  of 
history,  the  Spanish  conflict  is  perhaps  more  interesting 
than  the  campaigns  of  Marlborough  and  Eugene.  The 
fate  of  the  Milanese  and  of  the  Low  Countries  was 
decided  by  military  skill.  The  fate  of  Spain  was 
decided  by  the  peculiarities  of  the  national  character. 

When  the  war  commenced,  the  young  King  was  in 
a  most  deplorable  situation.  On  his  arrival  at  Madrid 
he  found  Porto  Carrero  at  the  head  of  affairs,  and  he 
did  not  think  fit  to  displace  the  man  to  whom  he  owed 
his  crown.  The  cardinal  was  a  mere  intriguer,  and  in 
no  sense  a  statesman.  He  had  acquired,  in  the  Court 
and  in  the  Confessional,  a  rare  degree  of  skill  in  all  the 
tricks  by  which  weak  minds  are  managed.  But  of  the 
noble  science  of  government,  of  the  sources  of  national 
prosperity,  of  the  causes  of  national  decay,  he  knew 
no  more  than  his  master.  It  is  curious  to  observe  the 
contrast  between  the  dexterity  with  which  he  ruled 
the  conscience  of  a  foolish  valetudinarian,  and  the  im- 
becility which  he  showed  when  placed  at  the  head  of 
an  empire.  On  what  grounds  Lord  Mali  on  represents 
the  Cardinal  as  a  man  "  of  splendid  genius,"  "  of  vast 
abilities,"  we  are  unable  to  discover.  Lewis  was  of  a 
very  different  opinion,  and  Lewis  was  very  seldom  mis- 
taken in  his  judgment  of  character.  "Every  body," 
bays  he,  in  a  letter  to  his  ambassador,  "  knows  how  in- 
capable the  Cardinal  is.  He  is  an  object  of  contempt 
o  his  countrymen." 

A  few  miserable  savings  were  made,  which  ruinea 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAEST.  105 

individuals  without  producing  any  perceptible  benefit  to 
the  state.  The  police  became  more  and  more  inefficient. 
The  disorders  of  the  capital  were  increased  by  tho 
arrival  of  French  adventurers,  the  refuse  of  Parisian 
brothels  and  gaming-houses.  These  wretches  consid- 
ered the  Spaniards  as  a  "subjugated  race  whom  the 
countrymen  of  the  new  sovereign  might  cheat  and  iii- 
sult  with  impunity.  The  King  sate  eating  and  drink- 
ing all  night,  lay  in  bed  all  day,  yawned  at  the  council 
table,  and  suffered  the  most  important  papers  to  He 
unopened  for  weeks.  At  length  he  was  roused  by  the 
only  excitement  of  which  his  sluggish  nature  was  sus- 
ceptible. His  grandfather  consented  to  let  him  have  a 
wife.  The  choice  was  fortunate.  Maria  Louisa,  Prin- 
cess of  Savoy,  a  beautiful  and  graceful  girl  of  thirteen, 
already  a  woman  in  person  and  mind,  at  the  age  when 
the  females  of  colder  climates  are  still  children,  was 
the  person  selected.  The  King  resolved  to  give  her 
the  meeting  in  Catalonia.  He  left  his  capital,  of  which 
he  was  already  thoroughly  tired.  At  setting  out  he  was 
mobbed  by  a  gang  of  beggars.  He,  however,  made 
his  way  through  them,  and  repaired  to  Barcelona. 

Lewis  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  Queen  would 
govern  Philip.  He,  accordingly,  looked  about  for 
somebody  to  govern  the  Queen.  He  selected  the 
Princess  Orsini  to  be  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber,  no 
insignificant  post  in  the  household  of  a  Arery  young 
wife,  and  a  very  uxorious  husband.  The  princess  was 
'.he  daughter  of  a  French  peer,  and  the  widow  of  a 
Spanish  grandee.  She  was,  therefore,  admirably  fitted 
by  her  position  to  be  the  instrument  of  the  Court  of 
Versailles  at  the  Court  of  Madrid.  The  Duke  of  Or 
leans  called  her,  in  words  too  coarse  for  translation, 
he  Lieutenant  of  Captain  Maintenon  ;  and  the  appel- 


106  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

lation  was  well  deserved.  She  aspired  to  play  in  Spain 
the  part  which  Madame  de  Maintenon  had  played  in 
France.  But,  though  at  least  equal  to  her  model  in 
wit,  information,  and  talents  for  intrigue,  she  had  not 
that  self-command,  that  patience,  that  imperturbable 
evenness  of  temper,  which  had  raised  the  widow  of  a 
buffoon  to  be  the  consort  of  the  proudest  of  kings.  The 
Princess  was  more  than  fifty  years  old,  but  was  still 
vain  of  her  fine  eyes,  and  her  fine  shape  ;  she  still 
dressed  in  the  style  of  a  girl ;  and  she  still  carried  her 
flirtations  so  far  as  to  give  occasion  for  scandal.  She 
was,  however,  polite,  eloquent,  and  not  deficient  in 
strength  of  mind.  The  bitter  Saint  Simon  owns 

O 

that  no  person  whom  she  wished  to  attach  could  long 
resist  the  graces  of  her  manners  and  of  her  conver- 
sation. 

We  have  not  time  to  relate  how  she  obtained,  and 
how  she  preserved  her  empire  over  the  young  couple  in 
whose  household  she  was  placed,  how  she  became  so 
powerful,  that  neither  minister  of  Spain  nor  ambassador 
from  France  could  stand  against  her,  how  Lewis  himself 
was  compelled  to  court  her,  how  she  received  orders 
from  Versailles  to  retire,  how  the  Queen  took  part  with 
her  favourite  attendant,  how  the  King  took  part  with 
the  Queen,  and  how,  after  much  squabbling,  lying, 
shuffling,  bullying,  and  coaxing,  the  dispute  was  ad- 
justed. We  turn  to  the  events  of  the  war. 

When  hostilities  were  proclaimed  at  London,  Vienna, 
and  the  Hagiie,  Philip  was  at  Naples.  He  had  been 
with  great  difficulty  prevailed  upon,  by  the  most  urgent 
representations  from  Versailles,  to  separate  himself  from 
his  wife,  and  to  repair  without  her  to  his  Italian  domin- 
ions, which  were  then  menaced  by  the  Emperor.  The 
Queen  acted  as  Regent,  and,  child  as  she  was,  seems  to 


THE  SUCCESSION  IX  SPAIN.  107 

have  been  quite  as  competent  to  govern  the  kingdom  as 
her  husband  or  any  of  his  ministers. 

In  August,  1702,  an  armament,  under  the  command 
of  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  appeared  off  Cadiz.  The 
Spanish  authorities  had  no  funds  and  no  regular  troops. 
The  national  spirit,  however,  supplied  in  some  degree 
what  was  wanting.  The  nobles  and  farmers  advanced 
money.  The  peasantry  were  formed  into  what  the 
Spanish  writers  call  bands  of  heroic  patriots,  and  what 
General  Stanhope  calls  a  "  rascally  foot  militia."  If  the 
invaders  had  acted  with  vigour  and  judgment,  Cadi? 
would  probably  have  fallen.  But  the  chiefs  of  the  ex- 
pedition were  divided  by  national  and  professional 
feelings,  Dutch  against  English,  and  land  against  sea. 
Sparre,  the  Dutch  general,  was  sulky  and  perverse. 
Bellasys,  the  English  general,  embezzled  the  stores 
Lord  Mali  on  imputes  the  ill  temper  of  Sparre  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  republican  institutions  of  Holland.  By 
parity  of  reason,  we  suppose  that  he  would  impute  the 
peculations  of  Bellasys  to  the  influence  of  the  monnrch- 
ical  and  aristocratical  institutions  of  England.  The 
Duke  of  Ormond,  who  had  the  command  of  the  \\hole 
expedition,  proved  on  this  occasion,  as  on  every  ovher, 
destitute  of  the  qxialities  which  great  emergencies  re- 
quire. No  discipline  was  kept ;  the  soldiers  v/ere 
Buffered  to  rob  and  insult  those  whom  it  was  iiiost 
desirable  to  conciliate.  Churches  were  robbed ;  images 
were  pulled  down ;  nuns  were  violated.  The  officers 
shared  the  spoil  instead  of  punishing  the  spoilers  ;  and 
at  last  the  armament,  loaded,  to  use  the  words  of  Stan- 
hope, "  with  a  great  deal  of  plunder  and  infamy,"  quitted 
the  scene  of  Essex's  glory,  leaving  the  only  Spaniard 
if  note  who  had  declared  for  them  to  be  hanged  by  his 
-.ountrymen. 


108  LORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 

The  fleet  was  off  the  coast  of  Portugal  on  the  way 
back  to  England,  when  the  Duke  of  Orraond  received 
intelligence  that  the  treasure  ships  from  America  had 
just  arrived  in  Europe,  and  had,  in  order  to  avoid  his 
armament,  repaired  to  the  harbour  of  Vigo.  The  car- 
go consisted,  it  was  said,  of  more  than  three  millions 
sterling  in  gold  and  silver,  besides  much  valuable  mer- 
chandise. The  prospect  of  plunder  reconciled  all  dis- 
putes. Dutch  and  English,  admirals  and  generals,  were 
equally  eager  for  action.  The  Spaniards  might  with 
the  greatest  ease  have  secured  the  treasure  by  simply 
landing  it ;  but  it  was  a  fundamental  law  of  Spanish 
trade  that  the  galleons  should  unload  at  Cadiz,  and  at 
Cadiz  "Only.  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  at  Cadiz,  in 
the  true  spirit  of  monopoly,  refused,  even  at  this  con- 
juncture, to  bate  one  jot  of  its  privilege.  The  matter 
was  referred  to  the  Council  of  the  Indies.  That  body 
deliberated  and  hesitated  just  a  day  too  long.  Some 
feeble  preparations  for  defence  were  made.  Two  ruined 
towers  at  the  mouth  of  the  bay  of  Vigo  were  garrisoned 
by  a  few  ill-armed  and  untrained  rustics ;  a  boom  was 
thrown  across  the  entrance  of  the  basin ;  and  a  few 
French  ships  of  war,  which  had  convoyed  the  galleons 
from  America,  were  moored  within.  But  all  was  to  no 
purpose.  The  English  ships  broke  the  boom  ;  Ormond 
and  his  soldiers  scaled  the  forts ;  the  French  burned 
their  ships,  and  escaped  to  the  shore.  The  conquerors 
shared  some  millions  of  dollars  :  some  millions  more 
were  sunk.  When  all  the  galleons  had  been  captured 
or  destroyed  came  an  order  in  due  form  allowing  them 
to  unload. 

When  Philip  returned  to  Madrid  in  the  beginning 
»f  1703,  he  found  the  finances  more  embarrassed,  the 
people  more  discontented,  and  the  hostile  coalition 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  109 

formidable  than  ever.  The  loss  of  the  galleons  had 
occasioned  a  great  deficiency  in  the  revenue.  The  Ad- 
miral  of  Castile,  one  of  the  greatest  subjects  in  Europe, 
had  fled  to  Lisbon  and  SAVOHI  allegiance  to  the  Arch- 
duke. The  King  of  Portugal  soon  after  acknoAvledged 
Charles  as  King  of  Spain,  and  prepared  to  support  the 
title  of  the  House  of  Austria  by  arms. 

On  the  other  side,  Lewis  sent  to  the  assistance  of 
his  grandson  an  army  of  12,000  men,  commanded  by 
the  Duke  of  Berwick.  Berwick  was  the  son  of  James 
the  Second  and  Arabella  Churchill.  He  had  been 
brought  up  to  expect  the  highest  honours  which  an 
English  subject  could  enjoy  ;  but  the  Avhole  course  of 
his  life  Avas  changed  by  the  reArolution  \vliich  overthre\v 
his  infatuated  father.  Berwick  became  an  exile,  a  man 
without  a  country ;  and  from  that  time  forward  his 
camp  was  to  him  in  the  place  of  a  country,  and  pro- 
fessional honour  Avas  his  patriotism.  He  ennobled  his 
wretched  calling.  There  was  a  stern,  cold,  Brutus-like 
virtue  in  the  manner  in  Avhich  he  discharged  the  duties 
of  a  soldier  of  fortune.  His  military  fidelity  Avas  tried 
by  the  strongest  temptations,  and  was  found  invincible. 
At  one  time  he  fought  against  his  uncle  ;  at  another 
time  he  fought  against  the  cause  of  his  brother ;  yet  he 
was  never  suspected  of  treachery,  or  even  of  slackness. 

Early  in  1704,  an  army  composed  of  English,  Dutch, 
and  Portuguese,  Avas  assembled  on  the  Avestern  frontier 
of  Spain.  The  Archduke  Charles  had  arrived  at  Lis- 
bon, and  appeared  in  person  at  the  head  of  his  troops. 
The  military  skill  of  Berwick  held  the  Allies,  Avho  AArere 
Commanded  by  Lord  Gahvay,  in  check  through  the 
whole  campaign.  On  the  south,  •  however,  a  great 
bloAv  was  struck.  An  English  fleet,  under  Sir  George 
Rooke,  having  on  board  seA-eral  regiments  commanded 


110  LOKD  MAHON'b   WAR  OF 

by  the  Prince  of  Hesse  Darmstadt,  appeared  before  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar.  That  celebrated  stronghold,  which 
nature  has  made  all  but  impregnable,  and  against  which 
all  the  resources  of  the  military  art  have  been  employed 
in  vain,  was  taken  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been  an  open 
village  in  a  plain.  The  garrison  went  to  say  their 
prayers  instead  of  standing  on  their  guard.  A  few 
English  sailors  climbed  the  rock.  The  Spaniards  ca- 
pitulated; and  the  British  flag  was  placed  on  those 
ramparts  from  which  the  combined  armies  and  navies 
of  France  and  Spain  have  never  been  able  to  pull  it 
down.  Rooke  proceeded  to  Malaga,  gave  battle  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  that  port  to  a  French  squadron,  and 
after  a  doubtful  action  returned  to  England. 

But  greater  events  were  at  hand.  The  English 
government  had  determined  to  send  an  expedition  to 
Spain,  under  the  command  of  Charles  Mordaunt  Earl 
of  Peterborough.  This  man  was,  if  not  the  greatest, 
yet  assuredly  the  most  extraordinary  character  of  that 
age,  the  King  of  Sweden  himself  not  excepted.  In- 
deed, Peterborough  may  be  described  as  a  polite,  learned 
and  amorous  Charles  the  Twelfth.  His  courage  had 
all  the  French  impetuosity,  and  all  the  English  steadi- 
ness. His  fertility  and  activity  of  mind  were  almost 
beyond  belief.  They  appeared  in  every  thing  that  he 
did,  in  his  campaigns,  in  his  negotiations,  in  his  familiar 
correspondence,  in  his  lightest  and  most  unstudied  con- 
versation. He  was  a  kind  friend,  a  generous  enemy, 
and  in  deportment  a  thorough  gentleman.  But  his 
splendid  talents  and  virtues  were  rendered  almost  use- 
less to  his  country,  by  his  levity,  his  restlessness,  his  ir- 
ritability, his  morbid  craving  for  novelty  and  for  excite- 
ment. His  weaknesses  had  not  only  brought  him,  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  into  serious  trouble ;  but  had 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  Ill 

impelled  him  to  some  actions  altogether  unworthy  of 
his  humane  and  noble  nature.  Repose  was  insupport- 
able to  him.  He  loved  to  fly  round  Europe  faster  than 
a  travelling  courier.  He  was  at  the  Hague  one  week, 
at  Vienna  the  next.  Then  he  took  a  fancy  to  sec 
Madrid  ;  and  he  had  scarcely  reached  Madrid,  when  he 
ordered  horses  and  set  off  for  Copenhagen.  No  at- 
tendants could  keep  up  with  his  speed.  No  bodily  in- 
firmities could  confine  him.  Old  age,  disease,  imminent 
death,  produced  scarcely  any  effect  on  his  intrepid 
spirit.  Just  before  he  underwent  the  most  horrible  of 
surgical  operations,  his  conversation  was  as  sprightly  as 
that  of  a  young  man  in  the  full  vigour  of  health.  On 
the  day  after  the  operation,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties 
of  his  medical  advisers,  he  would  set  out  on  a  journey. 
His  fimire  was  that  of  a  skeleton.  But  his  elastic 

O 

mind  supported  him  under  fatigues  and  sufferings  which 
seemed  sufficient  to  bring  the  most  robust  man  to  the 
grave.  Change  of  employment  was  as  necessary  to 
him  as  change  of  place.  He  loved  to  dictate  six  or 
seven  letters  at  once.  Those  who  had  to  transact 
business  with  him  complained  that  though  he  talked 
with  great  ability  on  every  subject,  he  could  never  be 
kept  to  the  point.  "  Lord  Peterborough,"  said  Pope, 
"  would  say  very  pretty  and  lively  things  in  his  letters, 
but  they  would  be  rather  too  gay  and  wandering, 
whereas,  were  Lord  Bolingbroke  to  write  to  an  emperor, 
or  to  a  statesman,  he  would  fix  on  that  point  which 
was  the  most  material,  would  set  it  in  the  strongest  all(] 

O 

finest  light,  and  manage  it  so  as  to  make  it  the  most 
serviceable  to  his  purpose."  What  Peterborough  was 
to  Bolingbroke  as  a  writer,  he  was  to  Marlborough  as 
a  general.  He  was,  in  truth,  the  last  of  the  knights- 
srrant,  brave  to  temerity,  liberal  to  profusion,  courte- 


112  LORD  MAHON'S   WAR  OF 

ous  iii  his  dealings  with  enemies,  the  protector  of  the 
oppressed,  the  adorer  of  women.  His  virtues  and 
vices  were  those  of  the  Round  Table.  Indeed,  hi3 
character  can  hardly  be  better  summed  up,  than  in  the 
jnes  in  which  the  author  of  that  clever  little  .  poem, 
Monies  and  Griants,  has  described  Sir  Tristram. 

"  His  birth,  it  seems,  by  Merlin's  calculation, 
Was  under  Venus,  Mercury,  and  Mars ; 
His  mind  with  all  their  attributes  was  mixed, 
And,  like  those  planets,  wandering  and  unfixed. 

"  From  realm  to  realm  he  ran,  and  never  staid : 
Kingdoms  and  crowns  he  won,  and  gave  away: 
It  seemed  as  if  his  labours  were  repaid 
By  the  mere  noise  and  movement  of  the  fray : 
No  conquests  nor  acquirements  had  he  made; 
His  chief  delight  was,  on  some  festive  day 
To  ride  triumphant,  prodigal,  and  proud, 
And  shower  his  wealth  amidst  the  shouting  crowd. 

"His  schemes  of  war  were  sudden,  unforeseen, 
Inexplicable,  both  to  friend  and  foe ; 
It  seemed  as  if  some  momentary  spleen 
Inspired  the  project  and  impelled  the  blow; 
And  most  his  fortune  and  success  were  seen 
With  means  the  most  inadequate  and  low ; 
Most  master  of  himself,  and  least  encumbered, 
When  overmatched,  entangled  and  outnumbered." 

In   June,    1705,   this   remarkable  man   arrived   in 
Lisbon  with  five  thousand  Dutch  and  English  soldiers. 

O 

There  the  Archduke  embarked  with  a  large  train  of 
attendants,  whom  Peterborough  entertained  munifi- 
cently during  the  voyage  at  his  own  expense.  From 
Lisbon  the  armament  proceeded  to  Gibraltar,  and, 
having  taken  the  Prince  of  Hesse  Darmstadt  on  board, 
steered  towards  the  north-east  alono;  the  coast  of 

O 

Spain. 

The  first  place  at  which   the   expedition  touched 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  113 

after  leaving  Gibraltar,  was  Alter,  in  Valencia.  The 
wretched  misgovernment  of  Philip  had  excited  great 
discontent  throughout  this  province.  .The  invaders 
were  eagerly  welcomed.  The  peasantry  flocked  to 
the  shore,  bearing  provisions,  and  shouting,  "  Long 
live  Charles  the  Third."  The  neighbouring  fortress  of 
Denia  surrendered  without  a  blow. 

The  imagination  of  Peterborough  took  fire.  He 
conceived  the  hope  of  finishing  the  war  at  one  blow. 
Madrid  was  but  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  distant. 
There  was  scarcely  one  fortified  place  on  the  road. 
The  troops  of  Philip  were  either  on  the  frontiers  of 
Portugal  or  on  the  coast  of  Catalonia.  At  the  capital 
there  was  no  military  force,  except  a  few  horse  who 
formed  a  guard  of  honour  round  the  person  of  Philip. 
But  the  scheme  of  pushing  into  the  heart  of  a  great 
kingdom  with  an  army  of  only  seven  thousand  men, 
was  too  daring  to  please  the  Archduke.  The  Prince 
of  Hesse  Darmstadt,  who,  in  the  reign  of  the  late  King 
of  Spain,  had  been  Governor  of  Catalonia,  and  who 
overrated  his  own  influence  in  that  province,  was  of 
opinion  that  they  ought  instantly  to  proceed  thither, 
and  to  attack  Barcelona.  Peterborough  was  hampered 
by  his  instructions,  and  found  it  necessary  to  submit. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  August  the  fleet  arrived  before 
Barcelona ;  and  Peterborough  found  that  the  task 
assigned  to  him  by  the  Archduke  and  the  Prince  was 
one  of  almost  insuperable  difficulty.  One  side  of  the 
city  was  protected  by -the  sea  ;  the  other  by  the  strong 
fortifications  of  Monjuich.  The  walls  were  so  exten- 
sive that  thirty  thousand  men  would  scarcely  have 
been  sufficient  to  invest  them.  The  garrison  was  as 

O 

numerous  as  the  besieging  army.  The  best  officers  in 
the  Spanish  service  were  in  the  town.  The  hopes 


114  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

which  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt  had  formed  of  a  gen- 
eral rising  in  Catalonia,  were  grievously  disappointed, 
The  invaders  were  joined  only  by  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred armed  peasants,  whose  services  cost  more  than 
they  were  worth. 

No  general  was  ever  in  a  more  deplorable  situation 
than  that  in  which  Peterborough  was  now  placed. 
He  had  always  objected  to  the  scheme  of  besieging 
Barcelona.  His  objections  had  been  overruled.  He 
had  to  execute  a  project  which  he  had  constantly  rep- 
resented as  impracticable.  His  camp  was  divided  into 
hostile  factions,  and  he  was  censured  by  all.  The 
Archduke  and  the  Prince  blamed  him  for  not  proceed- 
ing instantly  to  take  the  town  ;  but  suggested  no  plan 
by  which  seven  thousand  men  could  be  enabled  to  do 
the  work  of  thirty  thousand.  Others  blamed  their 
general  for  giving  up  his  own  opinion  to  the  childish 
whims  of  Charles,  and  for  sacrificing  his  men  in  an 
attempt  to  perform  what  was  impossible.  The  Dutch 
commander  positively  declared  that  his  soldiers  should 
not  stir :  Lord  Peterborough  might  give  what  orders 
he  chose ;  but  to  engage  in  such  a  siege  was  madness  ; 
and  the  men  should  not  be  sent  to  certain  death  where 
there  was  no  chance  of  obtaining  any  advantage. 

At  length,  after  three  weeks  of  inaction,  Peter- 
borough announced  liis  fixed  determination  to  raise 
the  siege.  The  heavy  cannon  were  sent  on  board. 
Preparations  were  made  for  reembarking  the  troops, 
Charles  and  the  Prince  of  Hesse  were  furious ;  but 
most  of  the  officers  blamed  their  general  for  having 
delayed  so  long  the  measure  which  he  had  at  last  found 
it  necessary  to  take.  On  the  12th  of  September  there 
wore  rejoicings  and  public  entertainments  in  Barcelona 
for  this  great  deliverance.  On  the  following  morning 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  115 

Jhe  English  flag  was  flying  on  the  ramparts  of  Mon- 
juich.  The  genius  and  energy  of  one  man  had  sup- 
plied the  place  of  forty  battalions. 

At  midnight  Peterborough  had  called  on  the  Prince 
of  Hesse,  with  whom  he  had  not  for  some  time  been 
on  speaking  terms.  'v  I  have  resolved,  sir,"  said  the 
Earl,  "  to  attempt  an  assault ;  you  may  accompany  us 
if  you  think  fit,  and  see  whether  I  and  my  men  deserve 
what  you  have  been  pleased  to  say  of  us."  The 
Prince  was  startled.  The  attempt,  he  said,  was  hope- 
less, but  he  was  ready  to  take  his  share ;  and,  without 
further  discussion,  he  called  for  his  horse. 

Fifteen  hundred  English  soldiers  were  assembled 
under  the  Earl.  A  thousand  more  had  been  posted  as 
a  body  of  reserve  at  a  neighbouring  convent,  under  the 
command  of  Stanhope.  After  a  winding  march  along 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  Peterborough  and  his  little  army 
reached  the  Avails  of  Monjuich.  There  they  halted 
till  daybreak.  As  soon  as  they  were  descried,  the 
enemy  advanced  into  the  outer  ditch  to  meet  them. 
This  was  the  event  on  which  Peterborough  had  reck- 
oned, and  for  which  his  men  were  prepared.  The 
English  received  the  fire,  rushed  forward,  leaped  into 
the  ditch,  put  the  Spaniards  to  flight,  and  entered  the 
works  together  with  the  fugitives.  Before  the  garrison 
liad  recovered  from  their  first  surprise,  the  Earl  was 
master  of  the  outworks,  had  taken  several  pieces  of 
cannon,  and  had  thrown  up  a  breastwork  to  defend  his 
men.  He  then  sent  off  for  Stanhope's  reserve.  While 
he  was  waiting  for  this  reinforcement,  news  arrived 
that  three  thousand  men  were  marchino-  from  Barcelona 

O 

towards  Monjuich.  He  instantly  rode  out  to  take  a 
new  of  them ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  left  his  troops 
han  they  were  seized  with  a  panic.  Their  situation 


116  LORD  MAHON'S   WAIt   JF 

was  indeed  full  of  danger ;  they  had  been  brought  into 
Monjuich  they  scarcely  knew  how ;  their  numbers 
were  small ;  their  general  was  gone :  their  hearts  failed 
them,  and  they  were  proceeding  to  evacuate  the  fort. 
Peterborough  received  information  of  these  occurrences 
m  time  to  stop  the  retreat.  He  galloped  up  to  the 
fugitives,  addressed  a  few  words  to  them,  and  put  him- 
self at  their  head.  The  sound  of  his  voice  and  the 
sight  of  his  face  restored  all  their  courage,  and  they 
inarched  back  to  their  former  position. 

The  Prince  of  Hesse  had  fallen  in  the  confusion 
of  the  assault;  but  every  thing  else  went  well.  Stan- 
hope arrived ;  the  detachment  which  had  marched 
out  of  Barcelona  retreated ;  the  heavy  cannon  were 
disembarked,  and  brought  to  bear  on  the  inner  for- 
tifications of  Monjuich,  which  speedily  fell.  Peter- 
borough, with  his  usual  generosity,  rescued  the  Spanish 
soldiers  from  the  ferocity  of  his  victorious  army,  and 
paid  the  last  honours  with  great  pomp  to  his  rival  the 
Prince  of  Hesse. 

The  reduction  of  Monjuich  was  the  first  of  a  series 
of  brilliant  exploits.  Barcelona  fell ;  and  Peterbor- 
ough had  the  glory  of  taking,  with  a  handful  of  men, 
one  of  the  largest  and  strongest  towns  of  Europe. 
He  had  also  the  glory,  not  less  dear  to  his  chivalrous 
temper,  of  saving  the  life  and  honour  of  the  beau- 
tiful Duchess  of  Popoli,  whom  he  met  flying  with 
'iishevelled  hair  from  the  fury  of  the  soldiers.  He 
availed  himself  dexterously  of  the  jealousy  with  which 
the  Cataloninns  regarded  the  inhabitants  of  Castile. 
He  guaranteed  to  the  province  in  the  capital  of  which 
he  was  now  quartered  all  its  ancient  rights  and  liber- 
tics,  and  thus  succeeded  in  attaching  me  population  to 
the  Austrian  cause. 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  117 

The  open  country  now  declared  in  favour  of  Charles. 
Tarragona,  Tortosa,  Gerona,  Lerida,  San  Mateo,  threw 
open  their  gates.  The  Spanish  government  sent  the 
Count  of  Las  Torres  with  seven  thousand  men  to 
reduce  San  Mateo.  The  Earl  of  Peterborough,  with 
only  twelve  hundred  men,  raised  the  siege.  Ilia 
officers  advised  him  to  be  content  with  this  extra- 
ordinary success.  Charles  urged  him  to  return  to 
Barcelona ;  but  no  remonstrances  could  stop  such  a 
spirit  in  the  midst  of  such  a  career.  It  was  the  depth 
of  winter.  The  country  was  mountainous.  The  roads 
were  almost  impassable.  The  men  were  ill-clothed. 
The  horses  were  knocked  up.  The  retreating  army 
was  far  more  numerous  than  the  pursuing  army.  But 
difficulties  and  dangers  vanished  before  the  energy  of 
Peterborough.  He  pushed  on,  driving  Las  Torres 
before  him.  Nules  surrendered  to  the  mere  terror  of 
his  name ;  and,  on  the  fourth  of  February,  1706,  he 
arrived  in  triumph  at  Valencia.  There  he  learned 
that  a  body  of  four  thousand  men  was  on  the  march 
to  join  Las  Torres.  He  set  out  at  dead  of  night  from 
Valencia,  passed  the  Xucar,  came  unexpectedly  on 
the  encampment  of  the  enemy,  and  slaughtered,  dis- 
persed, or  took  the  whole  reinforcement.  The  Valen- 
ciiins  could  scarcely  believe  their  eyes  when  they  saw 
the  prisoners  brought  in. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Courts  of  Madrid  and  Vei- 
B;dlles,  exasperated  and  alarmed  by  the  fall  of  Barcelona 
and  by  the  revolt  of  the  surrounding  country,  deter- 
mined to  make  a  great  effort.  A  large  army,  nominally 
commanded  by  Philip,  but  really  under  the  orders  of 
Marshal  Tesse,  entered  Catalonia.  A  fleet  under  the 
Count  of  Toulouse,  one  of  the  natural  children  of 
the  Fourteenth,  appeared  before  the  port  of  Bar- 


118  LORD  MAHON'S   WAR  OF 

celona.  The  city  was  attacked  at  once  by  sea  and 
land.  The  person  of  the  Archduke  was  in  considera- 
ble danger.  Peterborough,  at  the  head  of  about  three 
thousand  men,  inarched  with  great  rapidity  from  Va- 
lencia. To  give  battle,  with  so  small  a  force,  to  a  great 
regular  army  under  the  conduct  of  a  Marshal  of  France, 
would  have  been  madness.  The  Earl  therefore  made 
war  after  the  fashion  of  the  Minas  and  Empecinadoa 
of  our  own  time.  He  took  his  post  on  the  neighbouring 
mountains,  harassed  the  enemy  with  incessant  alarms, 
cut  off  their  stragglers,  intercepted  their  communica- 
tions with  the  interior,  and  introduced  supplies,  both  of 
men  and  provisions  into  the  town.  He  saw,  however, 
that  the  only  hope  of  the  besieged  was  on  the  side  of 
the  sea.  His  commission  from  the  British  government 
gave  him  supreme  power,  not  only  over  the  army,  but, 
whenever  he  should  be  actually  on  board,  over  the  navy 
also.  He  put  out  to  sea  at  night  in  an  open  boat,  with- 
out communicating  his  design  to  any  person.  He  was 
picked  up,  several  leagues  from  the  shore,  by  one  of 
the  ships  of  the  English  squadron.  As  soon  as  he  was 
on  board,  he  announced  himself  as  first  in  command, 
and  sent  a  pinnace  with  his  orders  to  the  Admiral. 
Had  these  orders  been  given  a  few  hours  earlier,  it  is 
\.robable  that  the  whole  French  fleet  would  have  been 
taken.  As  it  was,  the  Count  of  Toulouse  put  out  to 
sea.  The  port  was  open.  The  town  was  relieved.  On 
the  following  night  the  enemy  raised  the  siege  and  re- 
treated to  Roussillon.  Peterborough  returned  to  Va- 
lencia, a  place  which  he  preferred  to  every  other  in  Spain ; 
and  Philip,  who  had  been  some  jveeks  absent  from  his 
wife-,  could  endure  the  misery  of  separation  no  longer, 
and  flew  to  rejoin  her  at  Madrid. 

At  Madrid,  however,  it  was  impossible  for  him  or  foi 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  119 

her  to  remain.  The  splendid  success  which  Peterbor- 
ough had  obtained  on  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Penin- 

o 

sula  had  inspired  the  sluggish  Galway  with  emulation. 
He  advanced  into  the  heart  of  Spain.  Berwick  retreat- 
ed. Alcantara,  Ciudad  llodrigo,  and  Salamanca  fell, 
arid  the  conquerors  marched  towards  the  capital. 

Philip  was  earnestly  pressed  by  his  advisers  to  remove 
the  seat  of  government  to  Burgos.  The  advanced 
guard  of  the  allied  army  was  already  seen  on  the  heights 
above  Madrid.  It  was  known  that  the  main  body  was 
at  hand.  The  unfortunate  Prince  fled  with  his  Queen 
and  his  household.  The  royal  wanderers,  after  travel- 
ling eight  days  on  bad  roads,  under  a  burning  sun,  and 
sleeping  eight  nights  in  miserable  hovels,  one  of  which 
fell  down  and  nearly  crushed  them  both  to  death, 
reached  the  Metropolis  of  Old  Castile.  In  the  mean 
time  the  invaders  had  entered  Madrid  in  triumph,  and 
had  proclaimed  the  Archduke  in  the  streets  of  the  im- 
perial city.  Arragon,  ever  jealous  of  the  Castilian 
ascendency,  followed  the  example  of  Catalonia.  Sara- 
gossa  revolted  without  seeing  an  enemy.  The  governor 
whom  Philip  had  set  over  Carthagena  betrayed  his  trust. 
n,nd  surrendered  to  the  Allies  the  best  arsenal  and  the 
last  ships  which  Spain  possessed. 

Toledo  had  been  for  some  time  the  retreat  of  two  am- 
bitious, turbulent,  and  vindictive  intriguers,  the  Queen 
Dowager  and  Cardinal  Porto  Carrero.  They  had  long 
heen  deadly  enemies.  They  had  led  the  adverse  fac- 
tions of  Austria  and  France.  Each  had  in  turn  domi- 
neered over  the  weak  and  disordered  mind  of  the  late 
King.  At  length  the  impostures  of  the  priest  had  tri- 
amphed  over  the  blandishments  of  the  woman  ;  Porto 
Carrero  had  remained  victorious ;  and  the  Queen  had 
9ed  in  shame  and  mortification,  from  the  court  where 


120  LORD  MAIION'S   WAR  OF 

she  had  once  been  supreme.  In  her  retirement  she  was 
soon  joined  by  him  whose  arts  had  destroyed  her  influ- 
ence. The  cardinal,  having  held  power  just  long 
enough  to  convince  all  parties T>f  his  incompetency,  had 
been  dismissed  to  his  See,  cursing  his  own  folly  and  the 
ingratitude  of  the  House  which  he  had  served  too  weli. 
Common  interests  and  common  enmities  reconciled  the 
fallen  rivals.  The  Austrian  troops  were  admitted  into 
Toledo  without  opposition.  The  Queen  Dowager 
flung  off  that  mournful  garb  which  the  widow  of  a 
King  of  Spain  wears  through  her  whole  life,  and 
blazed  forth  in  jewels.  The  Cardinal  blessed  the 
standards  of  the  invaders  in  his  magnificent  cathedral, 
and  lighted  up  his  palace  in  honour  of  the  great  deliv- 
erance. It  seemed  that  the  struggle  had  terminated  in 
favour  of  the  Archduke,  and  that'  nothing  remained  for 
Philip  but  a  prompt  flight  into  the  dominions  of  his 
grandfather. 

So  judged  those  who  were  ignorant  of  the  character 
and  habits  of  the  Spanish  people.  There  is  no  coun- 
try in  Europe  which  it  is  so  easy  to  overrun  as  Spain  : 
there  is  no  country  in  Europe  which  it  is  more  difficult 
to  conquer.  Nothing  can  be  more  contemptible  than 
the  regular  military  resistance  which  Spain  offers  to  an 
invader  ;  nothing  more  formidable  than  the  energy 
which  she  puts  forth  wrhen  her  regular  military  resist- 
ance has  been  beaten  down.  Her  armies  have  long 
borne  too  much  resemblance  to  mobs  ;  but  her  mobs 
nave  had,  in  an  unusual  degree,  the  spirit  of  armies. 
The  soldier,  as  compared  with  other  soldiers,  is  defi- 
cient in  military  qualities  ;  but  the  peasant  has  as  much 
ef  those  qualities  as  the  soldier.  In  no  country  have 
such  strong  fortresses  been  taken  by  surprise :  in  no 
ountry  have  unfortified  towns  made  so  furious  anc 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  121 

obstinate  a  resistance  to  great  armies.  War  in  Spain 
has,  from  the  days  of  the  Romans,  had  a  character  of 
its  own  ;  it  is  a  fire  which  cannot  be  raked  out ;  it 
burns  fiercely  under  the  embers  ;  and  long  after  it  has, 
to  all  seeming,  been  extinguished,  bursts  forth  mors 
violently  than  ever.  This  w,is  seen  in  the  last  war. 
Spain  had  no  army  which  could  have  looked  in  the 
face  an  equal  number  of  French  or  Prussian  soldiers  ; 
but  one  day  laid  the  Prussian  monarchy  in  the  dust ; 
one  day  put  the  crown  of  France  at  the  disposal  of  in- 
vaders. No  Jena,  no  Waterloo,  would  have  enabled 
Joseph  to  reign  in  quiet  at  Madrid. 

The  conduct  of  the  Castilians  throughout  the  War 

O 

of  the  Succession  was  most  characteristic.  With  all 
the  odds  of  number  and  situation  on  their  side,  they 
had  been  ignominiously  beaten.  All  the  European 
dependencies  of  the  Spanish  crown  were  lost.  Catalo- 
nia, Arragon,  and  Valencia  had  acknowledged  the 
Austrian  Prince.  Gibraltar  had  been  taken  by  a  few 
sailors  ;  Barcelona  stormed  by  a  few  dismounted  dra- 
goons. The  invaders  had  penetrated  into  the  centre 
of  the  Peninsula,  and  were  quartered  at  Madrid  and 
Toledo.  While  these  events  had  been  in  progress, 
the  nation  had  scarcely  given  a  sign  of  life.  The  rich 
tould  hardly  be  prevailed  on  to  give  or  to  lend  for  the 
support  of  war  ;  the  troops  had  shown  neither  discipline 
nor  courage  ;  and  now  at  last,  when  it  seemed  that  all 
was  lost,  when  it  seemed  that  the  most  sanguine  must 
relinquish  all  hope,  the  national  spirit  awoke,  f  erce, 
proud,  and  unconquerable.  The  people  had  been 
lluggisli  when  the  circumstances  might  well  have  in- 
spired hope  ;  they  reserved  all  their  energy  for  what 
appeared  to  be  a  season  of  despair.  Castile,  Leon, 
(Vndnlusia,  Estremadura,  rose  at  once ;  every  peasant 


X22  LORD  MAHOK'S  WAR  OF 

procnred  a  firelock  or  a  pike  ;  the  Allies  were  masters 
only  of  the  ground  on  which  they  trod.  No  soldier 
could  wander  a  hundred  yards  from  the  main  body  of 
the  invading  army  without  imminent  risk  of  being 
poniarded.  The  country  through  which  the  conqiicr- 
ors  had  passed  to  Madrid,  and  which,  as  they  thought, 
they  had  subdued,  wras  all  in  arms  behind  them.  Their 
communications  with  Portugal  were  cut  off.  In  the 
mean  time,  money  began,  for  the  first  time,  to  flow 
rapidly  into  the  treasury  of  the  fugitive  king.  "  The 
day  before  yesterday,"  says  the  Princess  Orsini, 
hi  a  letter  written  at  this  time,  "  the  priest  of  a 
village  which  contains  only  a  hundred  and  twenty 
houses  brought  a  hundred  and  twenty  pistoles  to  the 
Queen.  '  My  flock,'  said  he,  .'  are  ashamed  to  send 
you  so  little  ;  but  they  beg  you  to  believe  that  in  this 
purse  there  are  a  hundred  and  twenty  hearts  faithful 
even  to  the  death.'  The  good  man  wept  as  he  spoke  ; 
and  indeed  we  wrept  too.  Yesterday  another  small 
village,  in  which  there  are  only  twenty  houses,  sent  us 
fifty  pistoles." 

While  the  Castilians  were  everywhere  arming  in  the 
cause  of  Philip,  the  Allies  were  serving  that  cause  as 
effectually  by  their  mismanagement.  Galway  staid  at 
Madrid,  where  his  soldiers  indulged  in  such  bound- 
less licentiousness  that  one  half  of  them  were  in  the 
hospitals.  Charles  remained  dawdling  in  Catalonia. 
Peterborough  had  taken  Requena,  and  wished  to  march 
from  Valencia  towards  Madrid,  and  to  effect  a  junc- 
tion with  Galway  ;  but  the  Archduke  refused  his  con- 
cent to  the  plan.  The  indignant  general  remained 
accordingly  in  his  favourite  city,  on  the  beautiful  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean,  reading  Don  Quixote,  giving 
balls  and  suppers,  trying  in  vain  to  get  some  good 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  123 

sport  out  of  the  Valencia  bulls,  and  making  love,  not 
in  vain,  to  the  Valencian  women. 

At  length  the  Archduke  advanced  into  Castile, 
and  ordered  Peterborough  to  join  him.  But  it  was 
too  late.  Berwick  had  already  compelled  Galway  to 
evacuate  Madrid  ;  and,  when  the  whole  force  of  tha 
Allies  was  collected  at  Guadalaxara,  it  was  found  to 
be  decidedly  inferior  in  numbers  to  that  of  the  enemy. 

Peterborough  formed  a  plan  for  regaining  possession 
of  the  capital.  His  plan  was  rejected  by  Charles, 
The  patience  of  the  sensitive  and  vainglorious  hero 
was  worn  out.  He  had  none  of  that  serenity  of 
temper  which  enabled  Marlborough "  to  act  in  perfect 
harmony  with  Eugene,  and  to  endure  the  vexatious 
interference  of  the  Dutch  deputies.  He  demanded 
permission  to  leave  the  army.  Permission  was  readily 
granted ;  and  he  set  out  for  Italy.  That  there  might 
be  some  pretext  for  his  departure,  he  was  commis- 
sioned by  the  Archduke  to  raise  a  loan  in  Genoa  on 
the  credit  of  the  revenues  of  Spain. 

From  that  moment  to  the  end  of  the  campaign  the 
tide  of  fortune  ran  strong  against  the  Austrian  cause. 
Berwick  had  placed  his  army  between  the  Allies  and 
the  frontiers  of  Portugal.  They  retreated  on  Valen- 
cia, and  arrived  in  that  province,  leaving  about  ten 
thousand  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

In  January,  1707,  Peterborough  arrived  at  Valencia 
from  Italy,  no  longer  bearing  a  public  character,  but 
merely  as  a  volunteer.  His  advice  was  asked,  an  3  it 
see ms  to  have  been  most  judicious.  He  gave  it  as  his 
decided  opinion  that  no  offensive  operations  against 
Oastile  ought  to  be  undertaken.  It  would  be  easy, 
\Q  said,  to  defend  Arragon,  Catalonia,  and  Valencia, 
igainst  lilulip.  The  inhabitants  of  those  parts  of 


124  LORD  MAHOX'S  WAR  OF 

Spain  were  attached  to  the  cause  of  the  ArxJhduke; 
and  the  armies  of  the  House  of  Bourbon  would  be 
resisted  by  the  whole  population.  In  a  short  time 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  Castilians  might  abate.  The 
government  of  Philip  might  commit  unpopular  acts. 
Defeats  in  the  Netherlands  might  compel  Lewis  to 
withdraw  the  succours  which  he  had  furnished  to  hia 
grandson.  Then  would  be  the  time  to  strike  a  deci- 
sive blow.  This  excellent  advice  was  rejected.  Peter- 
borough, who  had  now  received  formal  letters  of  recall 
from  England,  departed  before  the  opening  of  the 
campaign  ;  and  with  him  departed  the  good  fortune 
of  the  Allies.  Scarcely  any  general  had  ever  done 
so  much  with  means  so  small.  Scarcely  any  general 
had  ever  displayed  equal  originality  and  boldness.  He 
possessed,  in  the  highest  degree,  the  art  of  conciliating 
those  whom  he  had  subdued.  But  he  was  not  equally 
successful  in  winning  the  attachment  of  those  with 
whom  he  acted.  He  was  adored  by  the  Catalonians 
and  Valencians  ;  but  he  was  hated  by  the  prince  whom 
he  had  all  but  made  a  great  king,  and  by  the  generals 
whose  fortune  and  reputation  were  staked  on  the  same 
venture  with  his  own.  The  English  government  could 
not  understand  him.  He  was  so  eccentric  that  they 
gave  him  no  credit  for  the  judgment  which  he  really 
possessed.  One  day  he  took  towns  with  horse-soldiers  ; 
then  again  he  turned  some  hundreds  of  infantry  into 
cavalry  at  a  minute's  notice.  He  obtained  his  political 
intelligence  chiefly  by  means  of  love  affairs,  and  filled 
his  despatches  with  epigrams.  The  ministers  thought 
that  it  would  be  highly  impolitic  to  intrust  the  conduct 
of  the  Spanish  war  to  so  volatile  and  romantic  a  per- 
son. They  therefore  gave  the  command  to  Lord  Gal- 
Way,  an  experienced  veteran,  a  man  who  was  in  wai 


THE  SUSPENSION  IN  SPAIN.  J25 

what  Moliere's  doctors  were  in  medicine,  who  thought 
it  much  more  honourable  to  fail  according  to  rule,  than 
to  succeed  by  innovation,  and  who  would  have  been 
very  much  ashamed  of  himself  if  he  had  taken  Mori- 
juich  by  means  so  strange  as  those  which  Peterborough 
employed.  This  great  commander  conducted  the  cam- 
paign of  1707  in  the  most  scientific  manner.  On  the 
plain  of  Almanza  he  encountered  the  army  of  the 
Bourbons'.  He  drew  up  his  troops  according  to  the 
methods  prescribed  by  the  best  writers,  and  in  a  few 
hours  lost  eighteen  thousand  men,  a  hundred  and 
twenty  standards,  all  his  baggage  and  all  his  artillery. 
Valencia  and  Arragon  were  instantly  conquered  by 
the  French,  and,  at  the  close  of  the  year,  the  moun- 
tainous province  of  Catalonia  was  the  only  part  of 
Spain  which  still  adhered  to  Charles. 

"  Do  you  remember,  child,"  says  the  foolish  woman 
in  the  Spectator  to  her  husband,  "  that  the  pigeon- 
house  fell  the  very  afternoon  that  our  careless  wench 
spilt  the  salt  upon  the  table  ? "  "  Yes,  my  dear," 
replies  the  gentleman,  "  and  the  next  post  brought  us 
an  account  of  the  battle  of  Almanza."  The  approach 
of  disaster  in  Spain  had  been  for  some  time  indi- 
cated by  omens  much  clearer  than  the  mishap  of  the 
saltcellar ;  an  ungrateful  prince,  an  undisciplined  army, 
a  divided  council,  envy  triumphant  over  merit,  a  man 
of  genius  recalled,  a  pedant  and  a  sluggard  intrusted 
with  ^upreme  command.  The  battle  of  Almanza 
decided  the  fate  of  Spain.  The  loss  was  such  as 
Marlborough  or  Eugene  could  scarcely  have  retrieved, 
and  was  certainly  not  to  be  retrieved  by  Stanhope  and 
Btaremberg 

Stanhope,  who  took  the  command  of  the  English 
inny  in  Catalonia,  was  a  man  of  respectable  abilities, 


126  LORD  MAHOX'S   WAR  OF 

both  in  military  and  civil  affairs,  but  fitter,  we  con- 
ceive, for  a  second  than  for  a  first  place.  Lord  Mahon, 
with  his  usual  candour,  tells  us,  what  we  believe  was 
not  known  before,  that  his  ancestor's  most  distin- 
guished exploit,  the  conquest  of  Minorca,  was  sug- 
gested by  Marlborough.  Staremberg,  a  metliouical 
tactician  of  the  German  school,  was  sent  by  the 
emperor  to  command  in  Spain.  Two  languid  cam- 
paigns followed,  during  which  neither  of  the  hostile 
armies  did  any  thing  memorable,  but  during  which 
both  were  nearly  starved. 

At  length,  in  1710,  the  chiefs  of  the  Allied  forces 
resolved  to  venture  on  bolder  measures.  They  began 
the  campaign  with  -a  daring  move,  pushed  into  Arra- 
gon,  defeated  the  troops  of  Philip  at  Almenara,  defeated 
them  again  at  Saragossa,  and  advanced  to  Madrid. 
The  King  was  again  a  fugitive.  The  Castilians  sprang 
to  arms  with  the  same  enthusiasm  which  they  had 
displayed  in  1706.  The  conquerors  found  the  capital 
a  desert.  The  people  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses,  and  refused  to  pay  any  mark  of  respect  to  the 
Austrian  prince.  It  was  necessary  to  hire  a  few 
children  to  shout  before  him  in  the  streets.  Mean- 
while, the  court  of  Philip  at  Valladolid  was  thronged 
by  nobles  and  prelates.  Thirty  thousand  people  fol- 
lowed their  King  from  Madrid  to  his  new  residence. 
Women  of  rank,  rather  than  remain  behind,  performed 
the  journey  on  foot.  The  peasants  enlisted  by  thou- 
sands. Money,  arms,  and  provisions,  were  sifpplied 
in  abundance  by  the  zeal  of  the  people.  The  country 
tound  Madrid  was  infested  by  small  parties  of  irregular 
norse.  The  Allies  could  not  send  off  a  despatch  to 
A^rragon,  or  introduce  a  supply  of  provisions  into  the 
Capital.  It  was  unsafe  for  the  Archduke  to  huni 


THE  SUCCESSION  IX  SPAIST.  127 

in  tLe  immediate  vicinity  of  the  palace  wliicli  he 
occupied. 

The  \vish  of  Stanhope  was  to  winter  in  Castile. 
But  he  stood  alone  in  the  council  of  war  ;  and,  indeed, 
it  is  not  easy  to  understand  how  the  Allies  could  have 
maintained  themselves,  through  so  unpropitious  a  sea- 
son, in  the  midst  of  so  hostile  a  population.  Charles, 
whose  personal  safety  was  the  first  object  of  the  gen- 
erals, was  sent  with  an  escort  of  cavalry  to  Catalonia 
in  November ;  and  in  December  the  army  commenced 
its  retreat  towards  Arragon. 

But  the  Allies  had  to  do  with  a  master-spirit.  The 
King  of  France  had  lately  sent  the  Duke  of  Vendome 
to  command  in  Spain.  This  man  was  distinguished 
by  the  filthiness  of  his  person,  by  the  brutality  of  his 
demeanour,  by  the  gross  buifonery  of  his  conversation, 
and  by  the  impudence  with  which  he  abandoned  him- 
self to  the  most  nauseous  of  all  vices.  His  sluggishness 
was  almost  incredible.  Even  when  engaged  in  a  cam- 
paign, he  often  passed  whole  days  in  his  bed.  His 
strange  torpidity  had  been  the  cause  of  some  of  the 
most  serious  disasters  which  the  armies  of  the  House 
of  Bourbon  had  sustained.  But  when  he  was  roused 
by  any  great  emergency,  his  resources,  his  energy, 
and  his  presence  of  mind,  were  such  as  had  been 
found  in  no  French  general  since  the  death  of  Luxem- 
bourg. 

At  this  crisis,  Vendome  was  all  himself.  He  set 
out  from  Talavera  with  his  troops,  and  pursued  the 
retreating  army  of  the  Allies  with  a  speed  perhaps 
never  equalled,  in  such  a  season,  and  in  such  a  country. 
He  marched  night  and  day.  He  swam,  at  the  head 
sf  his  cavalry,  the  flooded  stream  of  Henares,  and, 
n  a,  few  days,  overtook  Stanhope,  who  was  at  Brihuega 


128  LORD  MAHON'S  WAR  OF 

with  the  left  wing  of  the  Allied  army.  "Nobody 
with  me,"  says  the  English  general,  u  imagined  that 
they  had  any  foot  within  some  days'  inarch  of  us ;  and 
our  misfortune  is  owing  to  the  incredible  diligence 
which  their  army  made."  Stanhope  had  but  just  time 
to  send  off  a  messenger  to  the  centre  of  the  army, 
which  was  some  leagues  from  Brihuega,  before  Ven- 
dome  was  upon  him.  The  town  was  invested  on  every 
side.  The  walls  were  battered  with  cannon.  A  mine 
was  sprung  under  one  of  the  gates.  The  English 
kept  up  a  terrible  fire  till  their  powder  was  spent. 
They  then  fought  desperately  with  the  bayonet  against 
overwhelming  odds*  They  burned  the  houses  which 
the  assailants  had  taken.  But  all  was  to  no  purpose. 
The  British  general  saw  that  resistance  could  pro- 
duce only  a  useless  carnage.  He  concluded  a  capitu- 
lation ;  and  his  gallant  little  army  became  prisoners  of 
war  on  honourable  terms. 

Scarcely  had  Vendome  signed  the  capitulation, 
when  he  learned  that  Staremberg  was  marching  to 
the  relief  of  Stanhope.  Preparations  were  instantly 
made  for  a  general  action.  On  the  day  following 
that  on  which  the  English  had  delivered  up  their 
arms,  was  fought  the  obstinate  and  bloody  fight  of 
Villa-Viciosa.  Staremberg  remained  master  of  the 
field.  Vendome  reaped  all  the  fruits  of  the  battle. 
The  Allies  spiked  their  cannon,  and  retired  towards 
Arragon.  But  even  in  Arragon  they  found  no  place 
of  rest.  Vendome  was  behind  them.  The  guerrilla 
parties  were  around  them.  They  fled  to  Catalonia ; 
out  Catalonia  was  invaded  by  a  French  army  from 
Roussillon.  At  length  the  Austrian  general,  with 
«ix  thousand  harassed  and  dispirited  men,  the  remains 
»f  a  great  and  victorious  army,  took  refuge  in  Bar 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  129 

celona,  almost  tlic  only  place  .in  Spain  which  still 
recognised  the  authority  of  Charles. 

Philip  was  now  much  safer  at  Madrid  than  his  grand- 
father at  Paris.  All  hope  of  conquering  Spain  in  Spain 
was  at  an  end.  But  in  other  quarters  the  House  of 
Bourbon  was  reduced  to  the  last  extremity.  The 
French  armies  had  undergone  a  series  of  defeats  in 
Germany,  in  Italy,  and  in  the  Netherlands.  An  im- 
mense force,  flushed  with  victory,  and  commanded  by 
the  greatest  generals  of  the  age,  was  on  the  borders  of 
France.  Lewis  had  been  forced  to  humble  himself  be- 
fore the  conquerors.  He  had  even  offered  to  abandon 
the  cause  of  his  grandson ;  and  his  offer  had  been  re- 
jected. But  a  great  turn  in  affairs  was  approaching. 

The  English  administration  which  had  commenced 
the  war  against  the  House  of  Bourbon  was  an  admin- 
istration composed  of  Tories.  But  the  war  was  a 
Whig  war.  It  was  the  favourite  scheme  of  William, 
the  Whig  King.  Lewis  had  provoked  it  by  recognis- 
ing, as  sovereign  of  England,  a  prince  peciiliarly  hate- 
ful to  the  Whigs.  It  had  placed  England  in  a  position 
of  marked  hostility  to  that  power  from  which  alone  the 
Pretender  could  expect  efficient  succour.  It  had  joined 
England  in  the  closest  union  to  a  Protestant  and  re- 
publican state,  to  a  state  which  had  assisted  in  bringing 
about  the  Revolution,  and  which  was  willing  to  oniar- 

'  O  fT> 

antee  the  execution  of  the  Act  of  Settlement.  Marl- 
borough  and  Godolphin  found  that  they  were  more 
zealously  supported  by  their  old  opponents  than  by 
their  old  associates.  Those  ministers  who  were  zeal- 
ous for  the  war  were  gradually  converted  to  Whiggism. 
The  rest  dropped  off,  and  were  succeeded  by  Whigs, 
Cowper  became  Chancellor.  Sunderland,  in  spite  of 
the  very  just  antipathy  of  Anne,  was  made  Secretary 


180  LORD  MAIIOX'S  WAR  OF 

of  State.  On  the  death  of  the  Prince  of  Denmr.rk  a 
more  extensive  change  took  place.  "Wharton  became 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  and  Somers  President  of 
the  Council.  At  length  the  administration  was  wholly 
in  the  hands  of  the  Low  Church  party. 

In  the  year  1710  a  violent  change  took  place.  The 
Queen  had  always  been  a  Tory  at  heart.  Her  relig- 
ious feelings  were  all  on  the  side  of  the  Established 
Church.  Her  family  feelings  pleaded  in  favour  of  her 
exiled  brother.  Her  selfish  feelings  disposed  her  to 
favour  the  zealots  of  prerogative.  The  affection  which 
she  felt  for  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  was  the  great 
security  of  the  Whigs.  That  affection  had  at  length 
turned  to  deadly  aversion.  While  the  great  party 
which  had  long  swayed  the  destinies  of  Europe  was 
undermined  by  bedchamber  women  at  St.  James's,  a 
violent  storm  gathered  in  the  country.  A  foolish  par- 
son had  preached  a  foolish  sermon  against  the  principles 
of  the  Revolution.  The  wisest  members  of  the  gov- 
ernment were  for  letting  the  man  alone.  But  Godol- 
phin,  inflamed  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  new-made  Whig, 
and  exasperated  by  a  nickname  which  was  applied  to 
him  in  this  unfortunate  discourse,  insisted  that  the 
preacher  should  be  impeached.  The  exhortations  of 
the  mild  and  sagacious  Somers  were  disregarded.  The 
impeachment  was  brought ;  the  doctor  was  convicted  ; 
and  the  accusers  were  ruined.  The  clergy  came  to 
the  rescue  of  the  persecuted  clergyman.  The  country 
gentlemen  came  tc  the  rescue  of  the  clergy.  A  dis- 
play of  Tory  feelings,  such  as  England  had  not  wit- 
nessed since  the  closing  years  of  Charles  the  Second's 
reign,  appalled  the  Ministers  and  gave  boldness  to  the 
Queen.  She  turned  out  the  Whigs,  called  Harley  and 
Bt.  John  to  power,  and  dissolved  the  Parliament.  The 


THE  SUCCESSION   IX  SPAIN.  131 

elections  went  strongly  against  tlie  late  government. 
Stanhope,  who  had  in  his  absence  been  put  in  nomina- 
tion for  Westminster,  was  defeated  by  a  Tory  candi- 
date. The  new  Ministers,  finding  themselves  masters 
of  the  new  Parliament,  were  induced  by  the  strongest 
motives  to  conclude  a  peace  with  France.  The  wholo 
syslcm  of  alliance  in  which  the  country  was  engaged 
was  a  Whig  system.  The  general  by  whom  the  Eng- 
lish armies  had  constantly  been  led  to  victory,  and  for 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  find  a  substitute,  was  now, 
whatever  he  might  formerly  have  been,  a  Whig  gen- 
eral. If  Marlborough  were  discarded  it  was  probable 
that  some  great  disaster  would  follow.  Yet,  if  he  were 
to  retain  his  command,  every  great  action  which  he 
might  perform  would  raise  the  credit  of  the  party  in 
opposition. 

A  peace  was  therefore  concluded  between  England 
and  the  Princes  of  the  House  of  Bourbon.  Of  that 
peace  Lord  Mali  on  speaks  in  terms  of  the  severest  rep- 
rehension. He  is,  indeed,  an  excellent  Whig  of  the 
time  of  the  first  Lord  Stanhope.  "  I  cannot  but  pause 
for  a  moment,"  says  he,  "  to  observe  how  much  the 
course  o£  a  century  has  inverted  the  meaning  of  our 
party  nicknames,  how  much  a  modern  Tory  resembles 
a  Whig  of  Queen  Anne's  reign,  and  a  Tory  of  Queen 
Anne's  reign  a  modern  Whig." 

We  grant  one  half  of  Lord  Mahon's  proposition :  from 
the  other  half  we  altogether  dissent.  We  allow  that  a 
modern  Tory  resembles,  in  many  things,  a  Whig  of 
Queen  Anne's  reign.  It  is  natural  that  such  should 
DC  the  case.  The  worst  things  of  one  age  often  resem- 
ble the  best  things  of  another.  A  modern  shopkeeper's 
nouse  is  as  well  furnished  as  the  house  of  a  considerable 
Siorchant.  in  Anne's  reign.  Very  plain  people  now 


132  LORD  MAIIOX'S  WAR  OF 

wear  finer  cloth  than  Beau  Fielding  or  Beau  Edge- 
worth  could  have  procured  in  Queen  Anne's  reign.  Wo 
would  rather  trust  to  the  apothecary  of  a  modem  vil- 
lage than  to  the  physician  of  a  large  town  in  Anne's 
reign.  A  modern  boarding-school  miss  could  tell  tho 

o  O 

most  learned  professor  of  Anne's  reign  some  things  in 
geography,  astronomy,  and  chemistry,  which  would 
surprise  him. 

The  science  of  government  is  an  experimental  sci- 
ence ;  and  therefore  it  is,  like  all  other  experimental 
sciences,  a  progressive  science.  Lord  Mali  on  would 
have  been  a  very  good  Whig  in  the  clays  of  Harley. 
But  Harley,  whom  Lord  Mahon  censures  so  severely, 
\vas  very  Whiggish  when  compared  even  with  Claren- 
don ;  and  Clarendon  was  quite  a  democrat  when  com- 
pared with  Lord  Biu'leigh.  If  Lord  Mahon  lives,  as  we 
hope  he  will,  fifty  years  longer,  we  have  no  doubt  that, 
as  he  now  boasts  of  the  resemblance  which  the  Tories 
of  our  time  bear  to  the  Whigs  of  the  Revolution,  he 
will  then  boast  of  the  resemblance  borne  by  the  Tories 
of  1882  to  those  immortal  patriots,  the  Whigs  of  the 
Reform  Bill. 

Society,  wre  believe,  is  constantly  advancing  in 
knowledge.  The  tail  is  now  where  the  head  was  some 

O 

generations  ago.  But  the  head  and  the  tail  still  keep 
their  distance.  A  nurse  of  this  century  is  as  wise  as  a 
iustice  of  the  quorum  and  cust-alorum  in  Shallow's 
time.  The  wooden  spoon  of  this  year  would  puzzle  a 
senior  wrangler  of  the  reign  of  George  the  Second.  A 
boy  from  the  National  School  reads  and  spells  better 
than  half  the  knights  of  the  shire  in  the  October  Club. 
But  there  is  still  as  Avide  a  difference  as  eA-er  betAveen 
justices  and  nurses,  senior  AArranglers  and  Avooden 
spoons,  members  of  Parliament  and  children  at  charity 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  133 

schools.  In  the  same  way,  though  a  Tory  may  now 
be  very  like  what  a  Whig  was  a  hundred  and  twenty 
years  ago,  the  Whig  is  as  much  in  advance  of  the  Tory 
as  ever.  The  stag,  in  the  Treatise  on  the  Bathos,  who 
"feared  his  hind  feet  would  o'ertake  the  fore,"  was  not 
more  mistaken  than  Lord  Mahon,  if  he  thinks  that  he 
has  really  come  up  with  the  Whigs.  The  absolute 
position  of  the  parties  has  been  altered;  the  relative 
position  remains  unchanged.  Through  the  whole  of  that 
great  movement,  which  began  before  these  party-names 
existed,  and  which  will  continue  after  they  have  become 
obsolete,  through  the  whole  of  that  great  movement  of 
which  the  Charter  of  John,  the  institution  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  the  extinction  of  Villanage,  the  separa- 
tion from  the  see  of  Rome,  the  expulsion  of  the  Stuarts, 
the  reform  of  the  Representative  System,  are  succes- 
sive stages,  there  have  been,  under  some  name  or  other, 
two  sets  of  men,  those  who  were  before  their  age,  and 
those  who  were  behind  it,  those  who  were  the  wisest 
among  their  ^contemporaries,  and  those  who  gloried  in 
being  no  wiser  than  their  great  grandfathers.  It  is  de- 
lightful to  think,  that,  in  due  time,  the  last  of  those  who 
straggle  in  the  rear  of  the  great  march  will  occupy  the 
place  now  occupied  by  the  advanced  guard.  The  Tory 
Parliament  of  1710  would  have  passed  for  a  most  lib- 
eral Parliament  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  ;  and  there  are 
at  present  few  members  of  the  Conservative  Club  who 
would  not  have  been  fully  qualified  to  sit  with  Halifax 
*nd  Somers  at  the  Kit-cat. 

Though,  therefore,  we  admit  that  a  modern  Tory 
bears  some  resemblance  to  a  Whig  of  Queen  Anne's 
'  reign,  we  can  by  no  means  admit  that  a  Tory  of  Anne's 
reign   resembled   a   modem  Whig.     Have   the  mod- 
ern Whigs  passed  laws  for  the  purpose  of  closing  the 


134  LORD  MAHON'S   \VAK  OF 

entrance  of  the  House  of  Commons  against  the  new 
interests  created  by  trade  ?  Do  the  modern  Whigs 
hold  the  doctrine  of  divine  right  ?  Have  the  modern 
Whigs  laboured  to  exclude  all  Dissenters  from  office 
and  Power  ?  The  modern  Whigs  are,  indeed,  at  the 
present  moment,  like  the  Tories  of  1712,  desirous  of 
peace,  and  of  close  union  with  France.  But  is  tliera 
no  difference  between  the  France  of  1712  and  the 
France  of  1832  ?  Is  France  now  the  stronghold  of 
the  "  Popish  tyranny  "  and  the  "  arbitrary  power  " 
against  which  our  ancestors  fought  and  prayed  ?  Lord 
Mahon  will  find,  we  think,  that  his  parallel  is,  in  al' 
essential  circumstances,  as  incorrect  as  that  which  Flu 
ellen  drew  between  Macedon  and  Monmouth,  or  as 
that  which  an  ingenious  Tory  lately  discovered  between 
Archbishop  Williams  and  Archbishop  Vernon. 

We  agree  with  Lord  Mahon  in  thinking  highly  of 
the  Whigs  of  Queen  Anne's  reign.  But  that  part  of 
their  conduct  which  he  selects  for  especial  praise  is  pre- 
cisely the  part  which  we  think  most  objectionable. 
We  revere  them  as  the  great  champions  of  political 
and  of  intellectual  liberty.  It  is  true  that,  when  raised 
to  power,  they  were  not  exempt  from  the  faults  which 
power  naturally  engenders.  It  is  true  that  they  were 
men  born  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  that  they 
were  therefore  ignorant  of  many  truths  which  are  fa- 
miliar to  the  men  of  the  nineteenth  century.  But 
they  were,  what  the  reformers  of  the  Church  were  be- 
fore them,  and  what  the  reformers  of  the  House  of 
Commons  have  been  since,  the  leaders  of  their  species 
in  a  right  direction.  It  is  true  that  they  did  not  allow 
to  political  discussion  that  latitude  which  to  us  appears 
reasonable  and  safe  ;  but  to  them  we  ove  the  remova< 
of  the  Censorship,  It  is  true  that  they  did  not  carrj 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  135 

the  principle  of  religious  liberty  to  its  full  extent ;  but 
to  them  we  owe  the  Toleration  Act. 

Though,  however,  we  think  that  the  Whigs  of 
Anne's  reign,  were,  as  a  body,  far  siiperior  in  wisdom 
and  public  virtue  to  their  contemporaries  the  Tories, 
we  by  no  means  hold  ourselves  bound  to  defend  all  the 
measures  of  our  favourite  party.  A  life  of  action,  if 
it  is  to  be  useful,  must  be  a  life  of  compromise.  But 
speculation  admits  of  no  compromise.  A  public  man 
is  often  under  the  necessity  of  consenting  to  measures 
which  he  dislikes,  lest  he  should  endanger  the  success 
of  measures  which  he  thinks  of  vital  importance.  But 
the  historian  lies  under  no  such  necessity.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  one  of  his  most  sacred  duties  to  point 
out  clearly  the  errors  of  those  whose  general  conduct 
he  admires. 

It  seems  to  us,  then,  that,  on  the  great  question 
which  divided  England  during  the  last  four  years  of 
Anne's  reign,  the  Tories  were  in  the  right,  and  the 
Whigs  in  the  wrong.  That  question  was,  whether 
England  ought  to  conclude  peace  without  exacting 
from  Philip  a  resignation  of  the  Spanish  crown  ? 

No  Parliamentary  struggle,  from  the  time  of  the 
Exclusion  Bill  to-the  time  of  the  Reform  Bill,  has  been 
so  violent  as  that  which  took  place  between  the  authors 
of  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht  and  the  War  Party.  The 
Commons  were  for  peace ;  the  Lords  were  for  vigorous 
hostilities.  The  queen  was  compelled  to  choose  which 
of  her  two  highest  prerogatives  she  would  exercise, 
whether  she  would  create  Peers  or  dissolve  the  Parlia- 
ment. The  ties  of  party  superseded  the  ties  of  neigh- 
bourhood and  of  blood.  The  members  of  the  hostile 
factions  would  scarcely  speak  to  each  other,  or  bow  to 
each  other.  The  women  appeared  at  the  theatres 


136  LORD  MAHOX'S   WAR  OF 

bearing  the  badges  of  their  political  sect.  The  schism 
extended  to  the  most  remote  counties  of  England, 
Talents,  such  as  had  seldom  before  been  displayed  in 
political  controversy,  were  enlisted  in  the  service  of 
the  hostile  parties.  On  one  side  was  Steele,  gay, 
lively,  drunk  with  animal  spirits  and  with  factious  ani- 
mosity, and  Addison,  with  his  polished  satire,  his  inex- 
haustible fertility  of  fancy,  and  his  graceful  simplicity 
of  style.  In  the  front  of  the  opposite  ranks  appeared 
a  darker  and  fiercer  spirit,  the  apostate  politician,  the 
rii"»ld  priest,  the  perjured  lover,  a  heart  burning  with 
hatre^  against  the  whole  human  race,  a  mind  richly 
stored  with  images  from  the  dunghill  and  the  lazar- 
house.  The  ministers  triumphed,  and  the  peace  was 
concluded.  Then  came  the  reaction.  A  new  sover- 
eign ascended  the  throne.  The  Whigs  enjoyed  the 
confidence  of  the  King  and  of  the  Parliament.  The 
unjust  severity  with  which  the  Tories  had  treated 
Marlborough  and  Walpole  was  more  than  retaliated. 
Harley  and  Prior  were  thrown  into  prison  ;  Boling- 
broke  and  Ormond  were  compelled  to  take  refuge  in  a 
foreign  land.  The  wounds  inflicted  in  this  desperate 
conflict  continued  to  rankle  for  many  years.  It  was 
long  before  the  members  of  either  narty  could  discuss 
the  question  of  the  peace  of  Utrecht  with  calmness  and 
impartiality.  That  the  Whig  Ministers  had  sold  us  to 
the  Dutch  ;  that  the  Tory  Ministers  had  sold  us  to  the 
French  ;  that  the  war  had  been  earned  on  only  to  fill 
the  pockets  of  Marlborough  ;  that  the  peace  had  been 
concluded  only  to  facilitate  the  return  of  the  Pretender ; 
these  imputations  and  many  others,  utterly  unfounded, 
or  grossly  exaggerated,  were  hurled  backward  and  for- 
ward by  the  political  disputants  of  the  last  century. 
[n  our  time  the  question  may  be  discussed  without 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  137 

irritation.  We  will  state,  as  concisely  as  possible, 
the  reasons  which  Lave  led  us  to  the  conclusion  at 
which  we  have  arrived. 

The  dangers  which  were  to  be  apprehended  from 
the  peace  were  two ;  first,  the  danger  that  Philip 
might  be  induced,  by  feelings  of  private  affection,  to 
act  in  strict  concert  with  the  elder  branch  of  his  house, 
to  favour  the  French  trade  at  the  expense  of  England, 
and  to  side  with  the  French  government  in  future 
wars  ;  secondly,  the  danger  that  the  posterity  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy  might  become  extinct,  that  Philip 
might  become  heir  by  blood  to  the  French  crown,  and 
that  thus  two  great  monarchies  might  be  united  under 
one  sovereign. 

O 

The  first  danger  appears  to  us  altogether  chimerical. 
Family  affection  has  seldom  produced  much  effect  on 
the  policy  of  princes.  The  state  of  Europe  at  the  time 
of  the  peace  of  Utrecht  proved  that  in  politics  the  ties 
of  interest  are  much  stronger  than  those  of  consan- 

O  -".  -  • 

guinity  or  affinity.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria  had  been 
driven  from  his  dominions  by  his  father-in-law  ;  Victor 
Amadeus  was  in  arms  against  his  sons-in-law  ;  Anne 
was  seated  on  a  throne  from  which  she  had  assisted  to 
push  a  most  indulgent  father.  It  is  true  that  Philip 
had  been  accustomed  from  childhood  to  regard  his 
grandfather  with  profound  veneration.  It  was  proba- 
ble, therefore,  that  the  influence  of  Lewis  at  Madrid 
would  be  very  great.  But  Lewis  was  more  than 
seventy  years  old  ;  he  could  not  live  long  ;  his  heir 
was  an  infant  in  the  cradle.  There  was  surely  no 
reason  to  think  that  the  policy  of  the  King  of  Spain 
would  be  swayed  by  his  regard  for  a  nephew  whom  he 
had  never  seen. 

In  fact,  soon  after  the  peace,  the  two  branches  of  tho 


138  LORD  MAHON'S  WAB  OF 

House  of  Bourbon  began  to  quarrel.  A  close  alliance 
was  formed  between  Pliilip  and  Charles,  lately 'com- 
petitors for  the  Castilian  crown.  A  Spanish  princess, 
betrothed  to  the  King  of  France,  was  sent  back  in  the 
most  insulting  manner  to  her  native  country ;  and  a 
decree  was  put  forth  by  the  Court  of  Madrid  ccm~ 
manding  every  Frenchman  to  leave  Spain.  It  is  true 
that,  fifty  years  after  the  peace  of  Utrecht,  an  alliance 
of  peculiar  strictness  was  formed  between  the  French 
and  Spanish  governments.  But  both  governments 
were  actuated  on  that  occasion,  not  by  domestic  affec- 
tion, but  by  common  interests,  and  common  enmitie?. 
Their  compact,  though  called  the  Family  Compact, 
was  as  purely  a  political  compact  as  the  league  of  Cam- 
brai  or  the  league  of  Pilnitz. 

The  second  danger  was  that  Philip  might  have  suc- 
ceeded to  the  crown  of  his  native  country.  This  did 
not  happen  :  but  it  might  have  happened  ;  and  at  one 
time  it  seemed  very  likely  to  happen.  A  sickly  child 
alone  stood  between  the  King  of  Spain  and  the  heri- 
tage of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth.  Pliilip,  it  is  true,  sol- 
emnly renounced  his  claim  to  the  French  crown.  But 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  obtained  possession  of  the 
Spanish  crown  had  proved  the  inefficacy  of  such  re- 
nunciations. The  French  lawyers  declared  Philip's 
renunciation  null,  as  being  inconsistent  with  the  funda- 
mental law  of  the  realm.  The  French  people  would 
probably  have  sided  with  him  whom  they  would  have 
considered  as  the  rightful  heir.  Saint  Simon,  though 
much  less  zealous  for  hereditary  monarchy  than  most 
of  his  countrymen,  and  though  strongly  attached  to 
the  Regent,  declared,  in  the  presence  of  that  prince, 
that  he  never  would  support  the  claims  of  the  Housa 
5f  Orleans  against  those  of  the  King  of  Spain.  "  I, 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIN.  139 

Tich,"  lie  said,  "  be  my  feelings,  what  must  be  the 
feelings  of  others  ?  "  Bolingbroke,  it  is  certain,  was 
fully  convinced  that  the  renunciation  was  worth  no 
more  than  the  paper  on  which  it  was  written,  and  de- 
manded it  only  for  the  purpose  of  blinding  the  English 
Parliament  and  people. 

Yet,  though  it  was  at  one  time  probable  that  the 
posterity  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  would  become  ex- 
tinct, and  though  it  is  almost  certain  that,  if  the  pos- 
terity of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  had  become  extinct, 
Philip  would  have  successfully  preferred  his  claim  to 
the  crown  of  France,  we  still  defend  the  principle  of 
the  Treaty  of  Utrecht.  In  the  first  place,  Charles 
had,  soon  after  the  battle  of  Villa-Viciosa,  inherited, 
by  the  death  of  his  elder  brother,  all  the  dominions  of 
the  House  of  Austria.  Surely,  if  to  these  dominions 
he  had  added  the  whole  monarchy  of  Spain,  the  balance 
of  power  would  have  been  seriously  endangered.  The 
union  of  the  Austrian  dominions  and  Spain  would 
not,  it  is  true,  have  been  so  alarming  an  event  as 
the  union  of  France  and  Spain.  But  Charles  was 
actually  Emperor.  Philip  was  not,  and  never  might 
be,  King  of  France.  The  certainty  of  the  less  evil 
might  well  be  set  against  the  chance  of  the  greater 
evil. 

But,  in  fact,  we  do  not  believe  that  Spain  would 
'ong  have  remained  under  the  government  either  of 
an  Emperor  or  of  a  King  of  France.  The  character 
of  the  Spanish  people  was  a  better  security  to  the 
nations  of  Europe  than  any  will,  any  instrument  of 
renunciation,  or  any  treaty.  The  same  energy  which 
the  people  of  Castile  had  put  forth  when  Madrid  was 
occupied  by  the  Allied  armies,  they  would  have  again 
put  forth  as  soon  as  it  appeared  that  their  country  was 


140  LORD  HAUON'S  WAK  OF 

about  to  become  a  French  province.  Though  they 
were  no  longer  masters  abroad,  they  were  by  110  means 
disposed  to  see  foreigners  set  over  them  at  home.  If 
Philip  had  attempted  to  govern  Spain  by  mandates 
from  Versailles,  a  second  Grand  Alliance  would  easily 
Lave  effected  what  the  first  had  failed  to  accomplish. 
The  Spanish  nation  would  have  rallied  against  him  as 
zealously  as  it  had  before  rallied  round  him.  And  of 
this  he  seems  to  have  been  fully  aware.  For  many 
years  the  favourite  hope  of  his  heart  was  that  he  might 
ascend  the  throne  of  his  grandfather  ;  but  he  seems 
never  to  have  thought  it  possible  that  he  could  reign 
at  once  in  the  country  of  his  adoption  and  in  the  coun- 
try of  his  birth. 

These  were  the  dangers  of  the  peace ;  and  they 
seem  to  us  to  be  of  no  very  formidable  kind.  Against 
these  dangers  are  to  be  set  off  the  evils  of  war  and  the 
risk  of  failure.  The  evils  of  the  war,  the  waste  of 
life,  the  suspension  of  trade,  the  expenditure  of  wealth, 
the  accumulation  of  debt,  require  no  illustration,.  The 
chances  of  failure  it  is  difficult  at  this  distance  of  time 
to  calculate  with  accuracy.  But  we  think  that  an  esti- 
mate approximating  to  the  truth  may,  without  much 
difficulty,  be  formed.  The  Allies  had  been  victorious 
in  Germany,  Italy,  and  Flanders.  It  was  by  no  means 
improbable  that  they  might  fight  their  way  into  the 
Very  heart  of  France.  But  at  no  time  sin6e  the  com- 
iiencement  of  the  war  had  their  prospects  been  so  daik 
m  that  country  which  was  the  very  object  of  the  strug- 
gle. In  Spain  they  held  only  a  few  square  leagues. 
The  temper  of  the  great  majority  of  the  nation  was 
lecidedly  hostile  to  them.  If  they  had  persisted,  if 
they  hal  obtained  success  equal  to  their  highest  expec- 
tations, if  they  had  gamed  a  series  of  victories  as  splen 


THE  SUCCESSION  IN  SPAIW.  141 

iid  as  those  of  Blenheim  and  Ramilies,  if  Paris  had 
fallen,  if  Lewis  had  been  a  prisoner,  we  still  doubt 
whether  they  would  have  accomplished  their  object. 
They  would  still  have  had  to  carry  on  interminable 
hostilities  against  the  whole  population  of  a  country 
which  affords  peculiar  facilities  to  irregular  warfare, 
and  in  which  invading  armies  suffer  more  from  famine 
than  from  the  sword. 

We  are,  therefore,  for  the  peace  of  Utrecht.  We 
are  indeed  no  admirers  of  the  statesmen  who  concluded 
that  peace.  Harley,  we  believe,  was  a  solemn  trifler, 
St.  John  a  brilliant  knave.  The  great  body  of  their 
followers  consisted  of  the  country  clergy  and  the  coun- 
try gentry  ;  two  classes  of  men  who  were  then  infe- 
rior in  intelligence  to  decent  shopkeepers  or  farmers 
of  our  time.  Parson  Barnabas,  Parson  Trulliber,  Sir 
Wilful  Witwould,  Sir  Francis  Wronghead,  Squire 
Western,  Squire  Sullen,  such  were  the  people  who 
composed  the  main  strength  of  the  Tory  party  during 
the  sixty  years  which  followed  the  Revolution.  It  is 
true  that  the  means  by  which  the  Tories  came  into 
power  in  1710  were  most  disreputable.  It  is  true  that 
the  manner  in  which  they  used  their  power  was  often 
unjust  and  cruel.  It  is  true  that,  in  order  to  bring 
about  their  favourite  project  of  peace,  they  resorted  to 
slander  and  deception,  without  the  slightest  scruple. 
It  is  true  that  they  passed  off  on  the  British  nation  a 
renunciation  which  they  knew  tp  be  invalid.  It  is 
true  that  they  gave  up  the  Catalans  to  the  vengeance 
of  Philip,  in  a  manner  inconsistent  with  humanity  and 
national  honour.  But  on  the  great  question  of  Peace 
>r  War,  we  cannot  but  think  that,  though  their  mo- 
tives may  have  been  selfish  and  malevolent,  their  d«v 
sision  was  beneficial  to  the  state. 


142  WAR  OF  THE  SUCCESSION   IN  SPADT. 

But  we  have  already  exceeded  our  limits.  It  re- 
mains only  for  us  to  bid  Lord  Mahon  heartily  farewell, 
and  to  assure  him  that,  whatever  dislike  we  may  feel 
for  his  political  opinions,  we  shall  always  meet  him 
with  pleasure  on  the  neutral  ground  of  literature. 


HORACE    WALPOLE.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  October,  1833.) 

WE  cannot  transcribe  this  titlepage  without  strong 
feelings  of  regret.  The  editing  of  these  volumes  was 
die  last  of  the  useful  and  modest  services  rendered 
to  literature  by  a  nobleman  of  amiable  manners,  of 
untarnished  public  and  private  character,  and  of  cul- 
tivated mind.  On  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  Lord 
Dover  performed  his  part  diligently,  judiciously,  and 
without  the  slightest  ostentation.  He  had  two  merits 
which  are  rarely  found  together  in  a  commentator. 
He  was  content  to  be  merely  a  commentator,  to  keep 
in  the  background,  and  to  leave  the  foreground  to  the 
author  whom  lie  had  undertaken  to  illustrate.  Yet, 
though  willing  to  be  an  attendant,  he  was  by  no 
means  a  slave ;  nor  did  he  consider  it  as  part  of  his 
duty  to  see  no  faults  in  the  writer  to  whom  he  faith- 
fully and  assiduously  rendered  the  humblest  literary 
offices. 

The  faults  of  Horace  TValpole's  head  and  heart  are 
indeed  sufficiently  glaring.  His  writings,  it  is  true, 
.Tank  as  high  among  the  delicacies  of  intellectual 
epicures  as  the  Strasburg  pies  among  the  dishes 

1  Letters  of  Horace  Walpole,  E«rl  of  Orford,  to  Sir  Horace  Mann, 
British  Envoy  at  the  Court  of  Tuscany.  Now  first  published  from  the 
Originals  in.  the  Possession  of  the  Earl  of  WALDO  :AVK.  Editci  by  LORP 
DOTRB.  2  vols.  8vo.  London:  1833. 


144  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

described  in  the  Almanack  des  Gourmands.  But  as 
the  pdte-de-foie-gras  owes  its  excellence  to  the  dis- 
eases of  the  wretched  animal  which  furnishes  it,  and 
would  be  good  for  nothing  if  it  were  not  made  of 
livers  preternaturally  swollen,  so  none  but  an  unhealthy 
and  disorganised  'mind  could  have  produced  such  lit- 
erary luxuries  as  the  works  of  Walpole. 

He  was,  unless  we  have  formed  a  very  erroneous 
judgment  of  his  character,  the  most  eccentric,  the 
most  artificial,  the  most  fastidious,  the  most  capricious 
of  men.  His  mind  was  a  bundle  of  inconsistent  whims 
and  affectations.  His  features  were  covered  by  mask 
within  mask.  When  the  outer  disguise  of  obvious 
affectation  was  removed,  you  were  still  as  far  as  ever 
from  seeing  the  real  man.  He  played  innumerable 
parts,  and  over-acted  them  ah1.  When  he  talked  mis- 
anthropy, he  out-Timoned  Timon.  When  he  talked 
philanthropy,  he  left  Howard  at  an  immeasurable 
distance.  He  scoffed  at  courts,  and  kept  a  chronicle 
of  their  most  trifling  scandal ;  at  society,  and  was 
blown  about  by  its  slightest  veerings  of  opinion  ;  at 
literary  fame,  and  left  fair  copies  of  Ms  private  letters, 
with  copious  notes,  to  be  published  after  his  decease ; 
at  rank,  and  never  for  a  moment  forgot  that  he  was  an 
Honourable ;  at  the  practice  of  entail,  and  tasked  the 
ingenuity  of  conveyancers  to  tie  up  his  villa  in  the 
strictest  settlement. 

The  conformation  of  his  mind  was  such  that  what- 
ever was  little  seemed  to  him  great,  and  whatever 
was  great  seemed  to  him  little.  Serious  business  was 
a  trifle  to  him,  and  trifles  were  his  serious  lusiness. 
To  chat  with  blue  stockings,  to  write  little  copies  of 
jomplimentary  verses  on  little  occasions,  to  superin- 
*end  a  private  press,  to  preserve  from  natural  decay 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MAXN.  145 

the  perishable  topics  of  Ranelagh  and  White's,  to 
record  divorces  and  bets,  Miss  Chudleigh's  absurdities 
and  George  Sclwyn's  good  sayings,  to  decorate  a  gro- 
tesque house  with  pie-crust  battlements,  to  procure 
rare  engravings  and  antique  chimney-boards,  to  match 
odd  gauntlets,  to  lay  out  a  maze  of  walks  within  five 
acres  of  ground,  these  were  the  grave  employments  of 
his  long  life.  From  these  he  turned  to  politics  as  to 
an  amusement.  After  the  labours  of  the  print-shop 
and  the  auction-room  he  unbent  his  mind  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  And,  having  indulged  in  the  recreation 
of  making  laws  and  voting  millions,  he  returned  to  more 

O  O  ' 

important  pursuits,  to  researches  after  Queen  Mary's 
comb,  Wolsey's  red  hat,  the  pipe  which  Van  Tromp 
smoked  during  his  last  sea-fight,  and  the  spur  which 
King  William  struck  into  the  flank  of  Sorrel. 

In  every  thing  in  which  Walpole  busied  himself,  in 
the  fine  arts,  in  literature,  in  public  affairs,  he  was 
drawn  by  some  strange  attraction  from  the  great  to  the 
little,  and  from  the  useful  to  the  odd.  The  politics  jn 
which  he  took  the  keenest  interest,  were  politics 
scarcely  deserving  of  the  name.  The  growlings  of 
George  the  Second,  the  flirtations  of  Princess  Emily 
with  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  the  amours  of  Prince 
Frederic  and  Lady  Middlesex,  the  squabbles  between 
Gold  Stick  in  waiting  and  the  Master  of  the  Buck- 
hounds,  the  disagreements  between  the  tutors  of  Prince 
"jreorge,  these  matters  engaged  almost  all  the 'attention 
fc'hich  Walpole  could  spare  from  matters  more  impor- 
tant still,  from  bidding  for  Zinckes  and  Petitots,  from 
cheapening  fragments  of  tapestry  and  handles  of  old 
.anccs,  from  joining  bits  of  painted  glass,  and  from 
setting  up  memorials  of  departed  cats  and  dogs.  While 
'ae  was  fetching  and  carrying  the  gossip  of  Kensington 

VOL.  III.  7 


146  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

Palace  and  Carlton  House,  he  fancied  that  he  was 
engaged  in  politics,  and  when  he  recorded  that  gossip, 
he  fancied  that  he  was  writing  history. 

He  was,  as  he  has  himself  told  us,  fond  of  faction  as 
an  amusement.  He  loved  mischief:  but  he  loved 
quiet ;  and  he  was  constantly  on  the  watch  for  oppor- 
tunities of  gratifying  hoth  his  tastes  at  once.  He  some- 
times contrived,  without  showing  himself,  to  disturb 
the  course  of  ministerial  negotiations  and  to  spread 
confusion  through  the  political  circles.  He  does  not 
Imnself  pretend  that,  on  these  occasions,  he  was  act- 
uated by  public  spirit ;  nor  does  he  appear  to  have 
had  any  private  advantage  in  view.  He  thought  it  a 
good  practical  joke  to  set  public  men  together  by  the 
ears  ;  and  he  enjoyed  their  perplexities,  their  accusa- 
tions, and  their  recriminations,  as  a  malicious  boy 
enjoys  the  embarrassment  of  a  misdirected  traveller. 

About  politics,  in  the  high  sense  of  the  word,  he 
knew  nothing,  and  cared  nothing.  He  called  himself 
a  Whig.  His  father's  son  could  scarcely  assume  any 
other  name.  It  pleased  him  also  to  affect  a  foolish 
dislike  of  kings  as  kings,  and  a  foolish  love  and  admira- 
tion of  rebels  as  rebels ;  and  perhaps,  while  kings  were 
not  in  danger,  and  while  rebels  were  not  in  being,  he 
really  believed  that  he  held  the  doctrines  which  he 
professed.  To  go  no  further  than  the  letters  now 
before  us,  he  is  perpetually  boasting  to  his  friend  Mann 
of  his  aversion  to  royalty  and  to  royal  persons.  He 
calls  the  crime  of  Damien  "  that  least  bad  of  murders, 
the  murder  of  a  king."  He  hung  up  in  his  villa  an 
engraving  of  the  death-warrant  of  Charles,  with  the 
inscription  "  Major  Charta"  Yet  the  most  superficial 
knowledge  of  history  might  have  taught  him  that  the 
Restoration,  and  the  crimes  and  follies  of  the  twenty 


TO  SIR  HOKACE  MANN.  147 

eight  years  which  followed  the  Restoration,  were  the 
effects  of  this  Greater  Charter.  Nor  was  there  much 
in  the  means  by  which  that  instrument  was  obtained 
that  could  gratify  a  judicious  lover  of  liberty.  A  man 
must  hate  kings  very  bitterly,  before  he  can  tliink  it 
desirable  that  the  representatives  of  the  people  should 
be  turned  out  of  doors  by  dragoons,  in  order  to  get  at 
a  king's  head.  Walpole's  Whiggism,  however,  was  of 
a  very  harmless  kind.  He  kept  it,  as  he  kept  the  old 
spears  and  helmets  at  Strawberry  Hill,  merely  for 
show.  He  would  just  as  soon  have  thought  of  taking 
down  the  arms  of  the  ancient  Templars  and  Hospital- 
lers from  the  walls  of  his  hall,  and  setting  off  on  a 
crusade  to  the  Holy  Land,  as  of  acting  in  the  spirit  of 
those  daring  warriors  and  statesmen,  great  even  in 
their  errors,  whose  names  and  seals  were  affixed  to  the 
warrant  which  he  prized  so  highly.  He  liked  revolu- 
tion and  regicide  only  when  they  were  a  hundred  years 
old.  His  republicanism,  like  the  courage  of  a  bully, 
or  the  love  of  a  fribble,  was  strong  and  ardent  when 
there  was  no  occasion  for  it,  and  subsided  when  he 
had  an  opportunity  of  bringing  it  to  the  proof.  As 
soon  as  the  revolutionary  spirit  really  began  to  stir  in 
Europe,  as  soon  as  the  hatred  of  kings  became  some- 
thing more  than  a  sonorous  phrase,  he  was  frightened 
into  a  fanatical  royalist,  and  became  one  of  the  most 
extravagant  alarmists  of  those  wretched  times.  In 
truth,  his  talk  about  liberty,  whether  he  knew  it  or 
not,  was  from  the  beginning  a  mere  cant,  the  remains 
i)f  a  phraseology  which  had  meant  something  in  the 
jnouths  of  those  from  whom  he  had  learned  it,  but 
which,  in  his  mouth,  meant  about  as  much  as  the  oath 
by  which  the  Knights  of  some  modern  orders  bind 
themselves  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  all  injured  ladies. 


148  TTALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

He  had  been  fed  in 'his  boyhood  with  Whig  specula- 
tions on  government.  He  must  often  have  seen,  at 
Houghton  or  in  Downing  Street,  men  who  had  beou 
Whigs  when  it  was  as  dangerous  to  be  a  Whig  as  to  be 
a  highwayman,  men  who  had  voted  for  the  Exclusion 
Bill,  who  had  been  concealed  in  garrets  and  cellars 
after  the  battle  of  Sedgemoor,  and  who  had  set  their 
names  to  the  declaration  that  they  would  live  and  die 
with  the  Prince  of  Orange.  He  had  acquired  the 
language  of  these  men,  and  he  repeated  it  by  rote, 
though  it  was  at  variance  with  all  his  tastes  and  feel- 
ings ;  just  as  some  old  Jacobite  families  persisted  in 
praying  for  the  Pretender,  and  in  passing  their  glasses 
over  the  water  decanter,  when  they  drank  the  King's 
health,  long  after  they  had  become  loyal  supporters  of 
the  government  of  George  the  Third.  He  was  a 
Whig  by  the  accident  of  hereditary  connection ;  but 
he  was  essentially  a  courtier  ;  and  not  the  less  a  court- 
ier because  he  pretended  to  sneer  at  the  objects  which 
excited  his  admiration  and  envy.  His  real  tastes  per* 
petually  show  themselves  through  the  thin  disguise. 
While  professing  all  the  contempt  of  Bradshaw  or 
Ludlow  for  crowned  heads,  he  took  the  trouble  to 
write  a  book  concerning  Royal  Authors.  He  pryed 
with  the  utmost  anxiety  into  the  most  minute  particu- 
lars relating  to  the  Roval  family.  When  he  was  a 

O  «.  J 

child,  he  was  haunted  with  a  lono-ino;  to  see  George  the 

*  o      o  c? 

First,  and  gave  his  mother  no  peace  till  she  had  found 
a  way  of  gratifying  his  curiosity.  The  same  feeling, 
covered  with  a  thousand  diso-uises,  attended  him  to  the 

O  7 

grave.  No  ooservation  that  dropped  from  the  lips  of 
Majesty  secured  to  him  too  trifling  to  be  recorded. 
The  French  songs  of  Prince  Frederic,  compositions 
tertainly  not  deserving  of  preservation  on  account  of 


TO  SIR  HORACE  AIAKN.  149 

their  intrinsic  merit,  have  been  carefully  preserved  for 
us  by  this  contenmer  of  royalty.  In  truth,  every  page 
of  Walpole's  works  bewrays  him.  This  Diogenes,  who 
would  be  thought  to  prefer  his  tub  to  a  palace,  and 
who  has  nothing  to  ask  of  the  masters  of  Windsor  and 
Versailles  but  that  they  will  stand  out  of  his  light,  is  a 
gentleman-usher  at  heart. 

Tie  had,  it  is  plain,  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  the 
frivolity  of  his  favourite  pursuits ;  and  this  conscious- 
ness produced  one  of  the  most  diverting  of  his  ten 
thousand  affectations.  His  busy  idleness,  his  indiffer- 
ence to  matters  which  the  world  generally  regards  as 
important,  his  passion  for  trifles,  he  thought  fit  to 
dignify  with  the  name  of  philosophy.  He  spoke  of 
himself  as  of  a  man  Avhose  equanimity  was  proof  to 
ambitious  hopes  and  fears,  who  had  learned  to  rate 
power,  wealth,  and  fame  at  their  true  value,  and 
whom  the  conflict  of  parties,  the  rise  and  fall  of  states- 
men, the  ebb  and  now  of  public  opinion,  moved  only 
to  a  smile  of  mingled  compassion  and  disdain.  It 
was  owing  to  the  peculiar  elevation  of  his  character 
that  he  cared  about  a  pinnacle  of  lath  and  plaster 
more  than  about  the  Middlesex  election,  and  about  a 
miniature  of  Grammont  more  than  about  the  American 
Revolution.  Pitt  and  Murray  might  talk  themselves 
hoarse  about  trifles.  But  questions  of  government 
and  war  were  too  insignificant  to  detain  a  mind  which 
was  occupied  in  recording  the  scandal  of  club-rooms 
and  the  whispers  of  the  back-stairs,  and  which  was 
even  capable  of  selecting  and  disposing  chairs  of  ebony 
and  shields  of  rhinoceros-skin. 

One  of  his  innumerable  whims  was  an  extreme 
unwillingness  to  be  considered  a  man  of  letters.  Not 
hat  he  was  indifferent  to  literary  fame.  Far  from  it, 


150  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

Scarcely  any  writer  has  ever  troubled  himself  so  much 
about  the  appearance  which  his  works  were  to  make 
before  posterity.  But  he  had  set  liis  heart  on  ineoir> 
natible  objects.  He  wished  to  be  a  celebrated  author, 
and  yet  to  be  a  mere  idle  gentleman,  one  of  those 
Epicurean  gods  of  the  earth  who  do  nothing  at  all, 
and  who  pass  their  existence  in  the  contemplation  of 
their  own  perfections.  He  did  not  like  to  have  any 
thing  in  common  with  the  wretches  who  lodged  in  the 
little  courts  behind  St.  Martin's  Church,  and  stole  out 
on  Sundays  to  dine  with  their  bookseller.  He  avoided 
the  society  of  authors.  He  spoke  with  lordly  contempt 
of  the  most  distinguished  among  them.  He  tried  to 
find  out  some  way  of  writing  books,  as  M.  Jourdain's 
father  sold  cloth,  without  derogating  from  his  char- 
acter of  Grentilliomme.  "  Lui,  marchand  ?  C'est 
pure  medisance :  il  ne  1'a  jamais  etc.  Tout  ce  qu'il 
faisait,  c'est  qu'il  e"tait  fort  obligeant,  fort  officieux ; 
et  comme  il  se  connaissait  fort  bien  en  dto'ffes,  il  en 
allait  choisir  de  tous  les  cOtds,  les  faisait  appoiter 
chez  lui,  et  en  donnait  a  ses  amis  pour  de  1'argent." 
There  are  several  amusing  instances  of  Walpole's 
feeling  on  this  subject  in  the  letters  now  before  us. 
Mann  had  complimented  him  on  the  learning  which 
appeared  in  the  "  Catalogue  of  Royal  and  Noble 
Authors ;  "  and  it  is  curious  to  see  how  impatiently 
Walpole  bore  the  imputation  of  having  attended  to 
any  thing  so  unfashionable  as  the  improvement  of  his 
mind.  "  I  know  nothing.  How  should  I  ?  I  who 
have  always  lived  in  the  big  busy  world ;  who  lie 
a-bed  all  the  morning,  calling  it  morning  as  long  as 
you  please ;  who  sup  in  company  ;  who  havf.  played  at 
faro  half  my  life,  and  now  at  loo  till  two  and  three 
<n  the  morning;  who  have  always  loved  pleasure 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANX.  151 

haunted  auctions How  I  have  laughed  when 

some  of  the  Magazines  have  called  me  the  learned 
gentleman.  Pray  don't  be  like  the  Magazines."  This 
folly  might  be  pardoned  in  a  boy.  But  a  man  between 
forty  and  fifty  years  old,  as  Walpole  then  was,  ought 
to  be  quite  as  much  ashamed  of  playing  at  loo  till 
three  eveiy  morning  as  of  being  that  vulgar  tiling,  a 
learned  gentleman. 

The  literary  character  has  undoubtedly  its  full 
share  of  faults,  and  of  very  serious  and  offensive 
faults.  If  Walpole  had  avoided  those  faults,  we 
could  have  pardoned  the  fastidiousness  with  which 
he  declined  all  fellowship  with  men  of  learning. 
But  from  those  faults  Walpole  was  not  one  jot  more 
free  than  the  garreteers  from  whose  contact  he  shrank. 
Of  literary  meannesses  and  literary  vices,  his  life  and 
his  works  contain  as  many  instances  as  the  life  and  the 
works  of  any  member  of  Johnson's  club.  The  fact  is, 
that  Walpole  had  the  faults  of  Grub  Street,  with  a 
large  addition  from  St.  James's  Street,  the  vanity,  the 
jealousy,  the  irritability  of  a  man  of  letters,  the  affected 
superciliousness  and  apathy  of  a  man  of  ton. 

His  judgment  of  literature,  of  contemporary  litera- 
ture especially,  was  altogether  perverted  by  his  aris- 
tocratical  feelings.  No  writer  surely  was  ever  guilty 
of  so  much  false  and  absurd  criticism.  He  almost 
invariably  speaks  with  contempt  of  those  books  which 
are  now  universally  allowed  to  be  the  best  that  ap- 
peared in  his  time ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  speaks 
of  writers  of  rank  and  fashion  as  if  they  were  en- 
titled to  the  same  precedence  in  literature  which 
would  have  been  allowed  to  them  in  a  drawing-room. 
,[n  these  letters,  for  example,  he  says  that  he  would 
have  written  the  most  absurd  lines  in  Lee  than 


152  WALPOLE- S  LETTERS 

Thomson's  Seasons.  The  periodical  paper  called 
"The  World,"  on  the  other  hand,  v,ras  by  "  our  first 
writers."  Who,  then,  were  the  first  writers  of  Eng- 
land in  the  year  1753  ?  Walpole  has  told  us  in  a  note. 
Our  readers  will  probably  guess  that  Hume,  Fielding, 
Smollett,  Richardson,  Johnson,  Warburton,  Collins, 
Akcnside,  Gray,  Dyer,  Young,  Warton,  Mason,  or 
some  of  those  distinguished  men,  were  in  the  list. 
Not  one  of  them.  Our  first  writers,  it  seerns,  were 
Lord  Chesterfield,  Lord  Bath,  Mr.  W.  Whithed,  Sir 
Charles  Williams,  Mr.  Soame  Jcnyns,  Mr.  Cambridge, 
Mr.  Coventry.  Of  these  seven  personages,  Whithed 
was  the  lowest  in  station,  but  was  the  most  accom- 
plished tuft-hunter  of  his  time.  Coventry  was  of  a 
noble  family.  The  other  five  had  among  them  two 
Beats  in  the  House  of  Lords,  two  seats  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  three  seats  in  the  Privy  Council,  a  baro- 
netcy, a  blue  riband,  a  red  riband,  about  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  not  ten  pages  that  are 
worth  reading.  The  writings  of  Whithed,  Cambridge, 
Coventry,  and  Lord  Bath  are  forgotten.  Soame  Jen- 
yns  is  remembered  chiefly  by  Johnson's  review  of  the 
foolish  Essay  on  the  Origin  of  Evil.  -Lord  Chester- 
field stands  much  lower  in  the  estimation  of  posterity 
than  he  would  have  done  if  his  letters  had  never  been 
published.  The  lampoons  of  Sir  Charles  Williams  are 
now  read  only  by  the  curious,  and,  though  not  without 
occasional  flashes  of  wit,  have  always  seemed  to  us,  we 
must  own,  very  poor  performances. 

Walpole  judged  of  French  literature  after  the  same 
fashion.  He  understood  and  loved  the  French  lan- 
guage. Indeed,  he  loved  it  too  well.  His  style  is 
more  deeply  tainted  with  Gallicism  than  that  of  any 
fciher  English  writer  with  whom  we  are  acquainted 


TO  SIK  HORACE  MANN.  153 

His  composition  often  reads,  for  a  page  together,  like 
a  rude  translation  from  the  French.  We  meet  every 
minute  with  such  sentences  as  these,  "  One  knows 
what  temperaments  Armibal  Caracci  painted."  "  The 
impertinent  personage!  "  "  She  is  dead  rich."  "  Lord 
Dalkeith  is  dead  of  the  small-pox  in  three  days." 
"  It  will  not  be  seen  whether  he  or  they  are  most 
patriot." 

His  love  of  the  French  language  was  of  a  peculiar 
kind.  He  loved  it  as  having  been  for  a  century  the 
vehicle  of  all  the  polite  nothings  of  Europe,  as  the 
sign  by  which  the  freemasons  of  fashion  recognised 
each  other  in  every  capital  from  Petersburgh  to  Na- 
ples, as  the  language  of  raillery,  as  the  language  of 
anecdote,  as  the  language  of  memoirs,  as  the  language 
of  correspondence.  Its  higher  uses  he  altogether  dis- 
regarded. The  literature  of  France  has  been  to  ours 
what  Aaron  was  to  Moses,  the  expositor  of  great 
truths  Avhich  would  else  have  perished  for  want  of  a 
voice  to  utter  them  with  distinctness.  The  relation 
which  existed  between  Mr.  Bentham  and  M.  Dumont 
is  an  exact  illustration  of  the  intellectual  relation  in 
which  the  two  countries,  stand  to  each  other.  The 
great  discoveries  in  physics,  in  metaphysics,  in  politi- 
cal science,  are  ours.  But  scarcely  any  foreign  na- 
tion >  except  France  has  received  them  from  us  by 
direct  communication.  Isolated  by  our  situation,  iso- 
lated by  our  manners,  we  found  truth,  but  we  did  not 
impart  it.  France  has  been  the  interpreter  between 
England  and  mankind. 

O 

In  the  time  of  Walpole,  this  process  of  interpreta- 
tion was  in  full  activity.     The  great  French  writers 
busy  in  proclaiming  through  Europe  the  names 
Bacon,  of  Newton,  and  of  Locke.     The  English 


154  WALFOLE'S  LETTERS 

principles  of  toleration,  the  English  respect  for  personal 
liberty,  the  English  doctrine  that  all  power  is  a  trust 
for  the  public  good,  were  making  rapid  progress, 
There  is  scarcely  any  thing  in  history  so  interesting  as 
that  great  stirring  up  of  the  mind  of  France,  that  shak- 
ing of  the  foundations  of  all  established  opinions,  that 
uprooting  of  old  truth  and  old  error.  It  was  plain 
that  mighty  principles  were  at  work  whether  for  evil 
or  for  good.  It  was  plain  that  a  great  change  in  the 
whole  social  system  was  at  hand.  Fanatics  of  one 
kind  might  anticipate  a  golden  age,  in  which  men 
should  live  under  the  simple  dominion  of  reason,  in 
perfect  equality  and  perfect  amity,  without  property, 
or  marriage,  or  king,  or  God.  A  fanatic  of  another 
kind  might  see  nothing  in  the  doctrines  of  the  philoso- 
phers but  anarchy  and  atheism,  might  cling  more 
closely  to  every  old  abuse,  and  might  regret  the  good 
old  days  when  St.  Dominic  and  Simon  de  Montfort 
put  down  the  growing  heresies  of  Provence.  A  wise 
man  would  have  seen  with  regret  the  excesses  into 
which  the  reformers  were  running ;  but  he  would  have 
done  justice  to  their  genius  and  to  their  philanthropy. 
He  would  have  censured  their  errors ;  but  he  would 
have  remembered  that,  as  Milton  has  said,  error  is  but 
opinion  in  the  making.  While  he  condemned  their 
hostility  to  religion,  he  would  have  acknowledged  that 
it  was  the  natiiral  effect  of  a  system  under  which  re- 
ligion had  been  constantly  exhibited  to  them  in  forms 
which  common  sense  rejected  and  at  which  humanity 
shuddered.  While  he  condemned  some  of  their  politi- 
cal doctrines  as  incompatible  with  all  law,  all  property, 
and  all  civilisation,  he  would  have  acknowledged  that 
he  subjects  of  Lewis  the  Fifteenth  had  every  excuse 
which  men  could  have  for  being  eager  to  pull  down, 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  155 

and  for  being  ignorant  of  the  far  higher  art  of  setting 
up.  While  anticipating  a  fierce  conflict,  a  great  and 
wide-wasting  destruction,  he  would  yet  have  looked 
forward  to  the  final  close  with  a  good  hope  for  France 
and  for  mankind. 

Walpole  had  neither  hopes  nor  fears.  Though  the 
most  Frenchified  English  writer  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
t\ny,  he  troubled  himself  little  about  the  portents  which 
were  daily  to  be  discerned  in  the  French  literature  of 
his  time.  While  the  most  eminent  Frenchmen  were 
studying  with  enthusiastic  delight  English  politics  and 
English  philosophy,  he  was  studying  as  intently  the 
gossij)  of  the  old  court  of  France.  The  fashions  and 
scandal  of  Versailles  and  Marli,  fashions  and  scandal  a 
hundred  years  old,  occupied  him  infinitely  more  than  a 
great  moral  revolution  which  was  taking  place  in  his 
sight.  He  took  a  prodigious  interest  in  every  noble 
sharper  whose  vast  volume  of  wig  and  infinite  length 
of  riband  had  figured  at  the  dressing  or  at  the  tucking 
up  of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth,  and  of  every  profligate 
woman  of  quality  who  had  carried  her  train  of  lovers 
backward  and  forward  from  king  to  parliament,  and 
from  parliament  to  king  during  the  wars  of  the  Fronde. 
These  were  the  people  of  whom  he  treasured  up  the 
smallest  memorial,  of  whom  he  loved  to  hear  the  most 
trifling  anecdote,  and  for  whose  likenesses  he  would 
have  given  any  price.  Of  the  great  French  writers  of 
his  own  time,  Montesquieu  is  the  only  one  of  whom  he 
speaks  with  enthusiasm.  And  even  of  Montesquieu  he 
speaks  with  less  enthusiasm  than  of  that  abject  thing, 
Crebillon  the  younger,  a  scribbler  as  licentious  as  Lou- 
vet  and  as  dull  as  Rapin.  A  man  must  be  strangely 
constituted  who  can  take  interest  in  pedantic  journals 
jf  the  blockades  laid  by  the  Duke  of  A.  to  the  hearts 


156  VFALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

of  the  Marquise  cle  B.  and  the  Coratesse  de  C.  Tliis 
Lrash  Walpole  extols  in  language  sufficiently  high  for 
the  merits  of  Don  Quixote.  He  Avished  to  possess  a 
likeness  of  Crebillon ;  and  Liotard,  the  first  painter  of 
miniatures  then  living,  was  employed  to  preserve  the 
features  of  the  profligate  dunce.  The  admirer  of  the 
Sopha  and  of  the  Lettres  Atheniennes  had  little  respect 
to  spare  for  the  men  who  were  then  at  the  head  of 
French  literature.  He  kept  carefully  out  of  their  way. 
He  tried  to  keep  other  people  from  paying  them  any 
attention.  He  could  not  deny  that  Voltaire  and  Rous- 
seau were  clever  men ;  but  he  took  every  opportunity 
of  depreciating  them.  Of  D'Alembert  he  spoke  with 
a  contempt  which,  when  the  intellectual  powers  of  the 
two  men  are  compared,  seems  exquisitely  ridiculous. 
D'Alembert  complained  that  he  was  accused  of  having 
written  Walpole's  squib  against  Rousseau.  "  I  hope," 
says  Walpole,  "  that  nobody  will  attribute  D'Alembert's 
works  to  me."  He  was  in  little  danger. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny,  however,  that  Walpole's 
writings  have  real  merit,  and  merit  of  a  very  rare, 
though  not  of  a  very  high  kind.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
used  to  say  that,  though  nobody  would  for  a  moment 
compare  Claude  to  Raphael,  there  would  be  another 
Raphael  before  there  was  another  Claude.  And  we 
own  that  we  expect  to  see  fresh  Humes  and  fresh 
Burkes  before  we  again  fall  in  with  that  peculiar  com- 
binatjon  of  moral  and  intellectual  qualities  to  which 
she  writings  of  Walpole  owe  their  extraordinary  popu- 
larity. 

It  is  easy  to  describe  him  by  negatives.  He  had  not 
a  creative  imagination.  He  had  not  a  pure  taste.  He 
was  not  a  great  reasoner.  There  is  indeed  scarcely 
my  writer  in  whose  works  it  would  be  possible  to  fine 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MAXN.  157 

so  many  contradictory  judgments,  so  many  sentences 
of  extravagant  nonsense.  Nor  was  it  only  in  his  fa- 
miliar correspondence  that  he  wrote  in  this  flighty  and 
inconsistent  manner,  but  in  long  and  elaborate  books, 
in  books  repeatedly  transcribed  and  intended  for  the 
public  eye.  We  will  give  an  instance  or  two ;  for 
without  instances,  readers  not  very  familiar  with  his 
works  will  scarcely  understand  our  meaning.  In  the 
Anecdotes  of  Painting,  he  states,  very  truly,  that  the 
art  declined  after  the  commencement  of  the  civil  wars. 
He  proceeds  to  inquire  why  this  happened.  The  ex- 
planation, we  should  have  thought,  would  have  been 
easily  found.  He  might  have  mentioned  the  loss  of  a 
king  who  was  the  most  munificent  and  judicious  patron 
that  the  fine  arts  have  ever  had  in  England,  the  troub- 
led state  of  the  country,  the  distressed  condition  of 
many  of  the  aristocracy,  perhaps  also  the  austerity  of 
the  victorious  party.  These  circumstances,  we  con- 
ceive, fully  account  for  the  phenomenon.  But  this 
solution  was  not  odd  enough  to  satisfy  Walpole.  He 
discovers  another  cause  for  the  decline  of  the  art,  the 
want  of  models.  Nothing  worth  painting,  it  seems, 
was  left  to  paint.  "  How  picturesque,"  he  exclaims, 
"  was  the  figure  of  an  Anabaptist!  "  —  as  if  puritan- 
ism  had  put  out  the  sun  and  withered  the  trees ;  as  if 
the  civil  wars  had  blotted  out  the  expression  of  charac- 
ter and  passion  from  the  human  lip  and  brow  ;  as  if 
many  of  the  men  whom  Vandyke  painted  had  not  been 
living  in  the  time  of  the  Commonwealth,  with  faces 
little  the  worse  for  wear ;  as  if  many  of  the  beauties 
ifterwards  portrayed  by  Lely  were  not  in  their  prime 
before  the  Restoration  ;  as  if  the  garb  or  the  features 
of  Cromwell  and  Milton  were  less  picturesque  than 
Vhose  of  the  round-faced  peers,  as  like  each  other  as 


L58  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

eggs  to  eggs,  who  look  out  from  the  middle  of  the  peii- 
wigs  of  Kneller.  In  the  Memoirs,  again,  Walpole 
sneers  at  the  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards  •  George  the 
Third,  for  presenting  a  collection  of  books  to  one  of 
the  American  colleges  during  the  Seven  Years'  War, 
and  says  that,  instead  of  books,  His  Royal  Highness 
ought  to  have  sent  arms  and  ammunition  ;  as  if  a  war 
ought  to  suspend  all  study  and  all  education  ;  or  as  if 
it  was  the  business  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  supply 
the  colonies  with  military  stores  out  of  his  own  pocket. 
We  have  perhaps  dwelt  too  long  on  these  passages  ;  but 
we  have  done  so  because  they  are  specimens  of  Wai- 
pole's  manner.  Everybody  who  reads  his  works  with 
attention,  will  find  that  they  swarm  with  loose  and 
foolish  observations  like  those  which  we  have  cited  ; 
observations  which  might  pass  in  conversation  or  in  a 
hasty  letter,  but  which  are  unpardonable  in  books  de- 
liberately written  and  repeatedly  corrected. 

He  appears  to  have  thought  that  he  saw  very  far 
into  men  ;  but  we  are  under  the  necessity  of  altogether 
dissenting  from  his  opinion.  We  do  not  conceive  that 
he  had  any  power  of  discerning  the  finer  shades  of 
character.  He  practised  an  art,  however,  which,  though 
easy  and  even  vulgar,  obtains  for  those  who  practise 
it  the  reputation  of  discernment  with  ninety-nine  peo- 
ple out  of  a  hundred.  He  sneered  at  everybody,  put 
on  every  action  the  worst  construction  which  it  would 
bear,  "  spelt  every  man  backward,"  to  borrow  the 
Lady  Hero's  phrase, 

"  Turned  every  man  the  -wrong  side  out, 
And  never  gave  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchasetn." 

In  this  way  any  man  may,  with  little  sagacity  and  lit- 


TO   SIR  HORACE  MANX.  159 

tie  trouble,  be  considered  by  those  whose  good  opinion 
is  not  worth  having  as  a  great  judge  of  character. 

It  is  said  that  the  hasty  and  rapacious  Kneller  used 
to  send  away  the  ladies  who  sate  to  him  as  soon  as  he 
had  sketched  their  faces,  and  to  paint  the  figure  and 
hands  from  his  housemaid.  It  was  in  much  the  same 
way  that  Walpole  portrayed  the  minds  of  others.  He 
copied  from  the  life  only  those  glaring  and  obvious 
peculiarities  which  could  not  escape  the  most  superfi- 
cial observation.  The  rest  of  the  canvas  he  filled  up, 
in  a  careless  dashing  way,  with  knave  and  fool,  mixed 
in  such  proportions  as  pleased  Heaven.  What  a  dif- 
ference between  these  daubs  and  the  masterly  portraits 
of  Clarendon. 

There  are  contradictions  without  end  in  the  sketches 
of  character  which  abound  in  Walpole's  works.  But 
if  \  e  were  to  form  our  opinion  of  his  eminent  contem- 
poraries from  a  general  survey  of  what  he  has  written 
concerning  them,  we  should  say  that  Pitt  was  a  strut- 
ting, ranting,  mouthing  actor,  Charles  Townshend  an 
impudent  and  voluble  jack-pudding,  Murray  a  demure, 
cold-blooded,  cowardly  hypocrite,  Hardwicke  an  inso- 
lent upstart,  with  the  understanding  of  a  pettifogger 
and  the  heart  of  a  hangman,  Temple  an  impertinent 
poltroon,  Egmont  a  solemn  coxcomb,  Lyttelton  a  poor 
creature  whose  only  wish  was  to  go  to  heaven  in  a 
coronet,  Onslow  a  pompous  proser,  Washington  a 
braggart,  Lord  Camdcn  sullen,  Lord  Townshend  ma- 
levolent, Seeker  an  atheist  who  had  shammed  Christian 
for  a  mitre,  White-field  an  impostor  who  swindled  his 
converts  out  of  their  watches.  The  Walpoles  fare 
little  better  than  their  neighbours.  Old  Horace  is  con- 
stantly represented  as  a  coarse,  brutal,  niggardly  buf- 
foon, and  his  son  as  worthy  of  such  a  father.  In  short, 


160  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

if  we  are  to  trust  this  discerning  judge  of  human  nature, 
England  in  his  time  contained  little  sense  and  no  vir- 

O 

tue,  except  what  was  distributed  between  himself,  Lord 
Waldgrave,  and  Marshal  Conway. 

Of  such  a  writer  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that 
his  works  are  destitute  of  every  charm  which  is  derived 
from  elevation  or  from  tenderness  of  sentiment.    When 
he  chose  to  be  humane,  and  magnanimous,  —  for  he 
sometimes,  by  way  of  variety,  tried  this  affectation, — he 
overdid  his  part  most  ludicrously.     None  of  his  many 
disguises  sat  so  awkwardly  upon  him.     For  example, 
he  tells  us  that  he  did  not  choose  to  be  intimate  with 
Mr.   Pitt.     And  why  ?     Because  Mr.  Pitt  had  been 
among  the  persecutors  of  his  father-?     Or  because,  as 
he  repeatedly  assures  us,  Mr.  Pitt  was  a  disagreeable 
man  in  private  life  ?     Not  at  all ;  but  because  Mr.  Pitt 
was  too  fond  of  war,  and  was  great  with  too  little  re- 
luctance.    Strange  that  a  habitual  scoffer  like  Walpole 
should  imagine  that  this  cant  could  impose  on  the  dull- 
est reader  !     If  Moliere  had  put  such  a  speech  into  the 
mouth  of  Tartuffe,  we  should  have  said  that  the  fiction 
was  unskilful,  and  that  Orgon  could  not  have  been 
such  a  fool  as  to  be  taken  in  by  it.     Of  the  twenty-six 
years  during  which  Walpole  sat  in  Parliament,  thirteen 
were  years  of  war.     Yet  hb  did  not,  during  all  those 
thirteen-  years,  litter  a  single  word  or  give  a  single  vote 
tending  to  peace.     His  most  in£imate  friend,  the  only 
friend,  indeed,  to  whom  he  appears  to  have  been  sin- 
cerely attached,  Conway,  was  a  soldier,  was  fond  of 
lis  profession,  and  was  perpetually  entreating  Mr.  Pitt 
to  give  him  employment.     In  this  Walpole  saw  nothing 
but  wnat  was  admirable.     Conway  was  a  hero  for  solic- 
iting the  command  of  expeditions  which  Mr.  Pitt  was  9 
monster  for  sending  out. 


TO  S1K  IIOKACE  MANN.  161 

What  then  is  the  charm,  the  irresistible  charm,  of 
Walpole's  writings  ?  It  consists,  we  think,  in  the  art 
of  amusing  without  excitino;.  He  never  convinces  the 

o  o 

reason,  or  fills  the  imagination,  or  touches  the  heart ; 
but  he  keeps  the  mind  of  the  reader  constantly  atten- 
tive and  constantly  entertained.  He  had  a  strange 
ingenuity  peculiarly  his  own,  an  ingenuity  which  ap- 
peared in  all  that  he  did,  in  his  building,  in  his  garden- 
ing, in  his  upholstery,  in  the  matter  and  in  the  manner 
of  his  writings.  If  we  were  to  adopt  the  classification, 
not  a  very  accurate  classification,  which  Akenside  haa 
given  of  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  we  should 
say  that  with  the  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful  Walpole 
had  nothing  to  do,  but  that  the  third  province,  the 
Odd,  was  his  peculiar  domain.  The  motto  which  he 
prefixed  to  his  Catalogue  of  Royal  and  Noble  Authors 
might  have  been  inscribed  with  perfect  propriety  over 
the  door  of  every  room  in  his  house,  and  on  the  title- 
page  of  every  one  of  his  books  ;  "  Dove  diavolo,  Mes- 
ser  Ludovico,  avete  pigliate  tante  coglionerie  ?  "  In 
his  villa,  every  apartment  is  a  museum  ;  eveiy  piece  of 
furniture  is  a  curiosity  :  there  is  something  strange  in 
the  form  of  the  shovel ;  there  is  a  long  story  belong- 
ing to  the  bell-rope.  We  wander  among  a  profusion 
of  rarities,  of  trifling  intrinsic  value,  but  so  quaint  in 
fashion,  or  connected  with  such  remarkable  names  and 
events,  that  they  may  well  detain  our  attention  for  a 
moment.  A  moment  is  enough.  Some  new  relic, 
some  new  unique,  some  new  carved  work,  some  new 
enamel,  is  forthcoming  in  an  instant.  One  cabinet  of 
trinkets  is  no  sooner  closed  than  another  is  opened. 
It  i;  the  same  with  Walpole's  writings.  It  is  not  in 
their  utility,  it  is  not  in  their  beauty,  that  their  attrac- 
tion lies.  They  are  to  the  works  of  great  historians 


102  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

and  poets,  what  Strawberry  Hill  is  to  the  Museum  of 
Sir  Hans  Sloane  or  to  the  Gallery  of  Florence.  Wal- 
pcle  i*  constantly  showing  us  things,  not  of  very  great 
value  indeed,  yet  things  which  we  are  pleased  to  see, 
and  Vfhich  we  can  see  nowhere  else.  They  are  bail 
bles ;  but  they  are  made  curiosities  either  by  his  gro- 
tesque workmanship  or  by  some  association  belonging 
to  them.  His  style  is  one  of  those  peculiar  styles  by 
which  every  body  is  attracted,  and  which  nobody  can 
safely  venture  to  imitate.  He  is  a  mannerist  whose 
manner  has  become  perfectly  easy  to  him.  His  affec- 
tation is  so  habitual  and  so  universal  that  it  can  hardly 
be  called  affectation.  The  affectation  is  the  essence 
of  the  man.  It  pervades  all  his  thoughts  and  all  his 
expressions.  If  it  were  taken  away,  nothing  would 
be  left.  He  coins  new  words,  distorts  the  senses  of 
old  words,  and  twists  sentences  into  forms  which  make 
grammarians  stare.  But  all  this  he  does,  not  only  with 
an  air  of  ease,  but  as  if  he  could  not  help  doing  it. 
His  wit  was,  in  its  essential  properties,  of  the  same 
kind  with  that  of  Cowley  and  Donne.  Like  theirs,  it 
consisted  in  an  exquisite  perception  of  points  of  anal- 
ogy and  points  of  contrast  too  subtile  for  common  ob- 
servation. Like  them,  Walpole  perpetually  startles 
us  by  the  ease  with  which  he  yokes  together  ideas 
between  which  there  would  seem,  at  first  sight,  to  be 
no  connection.  But  he  did  not,  like  them,  affect  the 
gravity  of  a  lecture,  and  draw  his  illustrations  from 
the  laboratory  and  from  the  schools.  His  tone  was 
light  and  fleering  ;  his  topics  were  the  topics  of  the 
club  and  the  ball-room  ;  and  therefore  his  strange 
combinations  and  far-fetched  allusions,  though  very 
closely  resembling  those  which  tire  us  to  death  in  the 
poems  of  the  time  of  Charles  the  First,  a~e  read  with 
pleasure  constantly  new. 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MASX.  163 

No  man  who  has  written  so  mucli  is  so  seldom  tire- 
Eome.  In  his  books  there  are  scarcely  any  of  those 
passages  which,  in  our  school  days,  we  used  to  call 
skip.  Yet  he  often  wrote  on  subjects  which  are  gen- 
erally considered  as  dull,  on  subjects  which  men  of 
great  talents  have  in  vain  endeavoured  to  render  pop- 
ular. When  we  compare  the  Historic  Doubts  about 
Richard  the  Third  with  Whitaker's  and  Chalmers's 
books  on  a  far  more  interesting  question,  the  charac- 
ter of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  ;  when  we  compare  the 
Anecdotes  of  Painting  with  the  works  of  Anthony 
Wood,  of  Nichols,  of  Granger,  we  at  once  see  Wai- 
pole's  superiority,  not  in  industry,  not  in  learning,  not 
in  accuracy,  not  in  logical  power,  but  in  the  art  of 
writing  what  people  will  like  to  read.  He  rejects  all 
but  the  attractive  parts  of  his  subject.  He  keeps  only 
what  is  in  itself  amusing,  or  what  can  be  made  so  by 
the  artifice  of  his  diction.  The  coarser  morsels  of 
antiquarian  learning  he  abandons  to  others,  and  seta 
out  an  entertainment  worthy  of  a  Roman  epicure,  an 
entertainment  consisting  of  nothing  but  delicacies,  the 
brains  of  singing  birds,  the  roe  of  mullets,  the  sunny 
halves  of  peaches.  This,  we  think,  is  the  great  merit 
of  his  romance.  There  is  little  skill  in  the  delineation 
of  the  characters.  Manfred  is  as  commonplace  a  ty- 
rant, Jerome  as  commonplace  a  confessor,  Theodore 
as  commonplace  a  young  gentleman,  Isabella  and  Ma- 
tilda as  commonplace  a  pair  of  young  ladies,  as  are 
to  be  found  in  any  of  the  thousand  Italian  castles  in 
which  cuiidoUieri  have  revelled  or  in  which  imprisoned 
Uuchesses  have  pined.  We  cannot  say  that  'we  much 
admire  the  big  man  whose  sword  is  dug  up  in  one 
quarter  of  the  globe,  whose  helmet  drops  from  the 
llouds  in  another,  and  who,  after  clattering  and  rust- 


164  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

ling  for  some  days,  ends  by  kicking  the  house  down. 
But  the  story,  whatever  its  value  may  te,  never  ilaga 
for  a  single  moment.  There  are  no  digressions,  or  un- 
seasonable descriptions,  or  long  speeches.  Every  sen- 
tence carries  the  action  forward.  The  excitement  is 
constantly  renewed.  Absurd  as  is  the  machinery,  in- 
sipid as  are  the  human  actors,  no  reader  probably  ever 
thought  the  book  dull. 

VValpole's  letters  are  generally  considered  as  his  best 
performances,  and,  we  think,  with  reason.  His  faults 
are  far  less  offensive  to  us  in  his  correspondence  than  in 
his  books.  His  wild,  absurd,  and  ever-changing  opin- 
ions about  men  and  things  are  easily  pardoned  in 
familiar  letters.  '  His  bitter,  scoffing,  depreciating  dis- 
position does  not  show  itself  in  so  unmitigated  a  manner 
as  in  his  Memoirs.  A  writer  of  letters  must  in  general 
be  civil  and  friendly  to  his  correspondent  at  least,  if  ta 
no  other  person. 

He  loved  letter-writing,  and  had  evidently  studied  it 
as  an  art.  It  was,  in  truth,  the  very  kind  of  writing  foi 
such  a  man,  for  a  man  very  ambitious  to  rank  among 
wits,  yet  nervously  afraid  that,  while  obtaining  the  rep- 
utation of  a  wit,  he  might  lose  caste  as  a  gentleman 
There  was  nothing  vulgar  in  writing  a  letter.  Not  even 
Ensign  Northerton,  not  even  the  Captain  described  in 
Hamilton's  Bawn,  —  and  Walpole,  though  the  author 
of  many  quartos,  had  some  feelings  in  common  with  those 
gallant  officers,  —  would  have  denied  that  a  gentleman 
might  sometimes  correspond  with  a  friend.  Whether 
Walpole  bestowed  much  labour  on  the  composition  of 
his  letters,  it  is  impossible  to  judge  from  internal 
evidence.  There  are  passages  which  seem  perfectly 
unstudied.  But  the  appearance  of  ease  may  be  the  ef« 
°cct  of  labour.  There  are  passages  which  have  a  very 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  16t1 

artificial  air.  But  they  may  have  been  produced  with- 
out effort  by  a  mind  of  which  the  natural  ingenuity  had 
been  improved  into  morbid  quickness  by  constant  ex- 
ercise. We  are  never  sure  that  we  see  him  as  he  was. 
We  are  never  sure  that  what  appears  to  be  nature  is  not 
disguised  art.  We  are  never  sure  that  what  appears  to  be 
art  is  not  merely  habit  which  has  become  second  nature. 

In  wit  and  animation  the  present  collection  is  not  su- 
perior to  those  which  have  preceded  it.  But  it  has  one 
great  advantage  over  them  all.  It  forms  a  connected 
whole,  a  regular  journal  of  what  appeared  to  Walpole 
the  most  important  transactions  of  the  last  twenty  years 
of  George  the  Second's  reign.  It  furnishes  much  new 
information  concerning  the  history  of  that  time,  the 
portion  of  English  history  of  which  common  readers 
know  the  least. 

The  earlier  letters  contain  the  most  lively  and  inter- 
esting account  which  we  possess  of  that  "  great  Wal- 
polean  battle,"  to  use  the  words  of  Junius,  which  termi- 
nated in  the  retirement  of  Sir  Robert.  Horace  entered 
the  House  of  Commons  just  in  time  to  witness  the  last 
desperate  struggle  which  his  father,  surrounded  by  ene- 
mies and  traitors,  maintained,  with  a  spirit  as  brave  as 
that  of  the  column  of  Fontenoy,  first  for  victory,  and 
then  "for  honourable  retreat.  Horace  was,  of  course,  on 
(he  side  of  his  family.  Lord  Dover  seems  to  have  been 
enthusiastic  on  the  same  side,  and  goes  so  far  as  to  call 
Sir  Robert  "  the  glory  of  the  Whigs." 

Sir  Robert  deserved  this  high  eulogium,  we  think, 
us  little  as  he  deserved  the  abusive  epithets  which  have 
tften  been  coupled  with  his  name.  A  fair  character 
k'f  him  still  remains  to  be  drawn  ;  and,  whenever  it 
shall  be  drawn,  it  will  be  equally  unlike  the  portrait 
by  Coxe  and  the  portrait  by  Smollett. 


166  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

He  had,  undoubtedly,  great  talents  and  great  virtues, 
He  was  not,  indeed,  like  the  leaders  of  the  party  which 
opposed  his  ggvcrnment,  a  brilliant  orator.  He  was 
not  a  profound  scholar,  like  Carteret,  or  a  wit  and  a 
line  gentleman,  like  Chesterfield.  In  all  these  respects 
his  deficiencies  were  remarkable.  His  literature  con- 
sisted of  a  scrap  or  two  of  Horace  and  an  anecdote  or 
two  from  the  end  of  the  Dictionary.  His  knowledge 
of  history  was  so  limited  that,  in  the  great  debate  on 
the  Excise  Bill,  he  was  forced  to  ask  Attorney-General 
Yorke  who  Empson  and  Dudley  were.  His  manners 
were  a  little  too  coarse  and  boisterous  even  for  that 
age  of  Westerns  and  Topehalls.  "When  he  ceased  to 
talk  of  politics,  he  could  talk  of  nothing  but  women ; 
and  he  dilated  on  his  favourite  theme  with  a  freedom 
which  shocked  even  that  plain-spoken  generation,  and 
which  was  quite  unsuited  to  his  age  and  station.  The 
noisy  revelry  of  his  summer  festivities  at  Houghton 
gave  much  scandal  to  grave  people,  and  annually  drove 
his  kinsman  and  colleague,  Lord  Townshend,  from  the 
neighbouring  mansion  of  Rainham. 

But,  however  ignorant  Walpole  might  be  of  general 
history  and  of  general  literature,  he  was  better  ac- 
quainted than  any  man  of  his  day  with  Avhat  it  con- 
cerned him  most  to  know,  mankind,  the  English 
nation,  the  Court,  the  House  of  Commons,  and  the 
Treasury.  Of  foreign  aifairs  he  knew  little ;  but  hia 
judgment  was  so  good  that  his  little  knowledge  went 
very  far.  He  was  an  excellent  parliamentary  debater, 
tn  excellent  parliamentary  tactician,  an  excellent  man 
of  business.  No  man  ever  brought  more  industry  or 
Oiore  method  to  the  transacting  of  affairs.  No  minis- 
tar  in  his  time  did  so  much ;  yet  no  minister  had  sc 
much  leisuie. 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  167 

He  was  a  good-natured  man  who  had  during  thirty 
<a,-ars  seen  nothing  but  the  worst  parts  of  human  na- 
ture in  other  men.  He  was  familiar  with  the  malice 
of  kind  people,  and  the  perfidy  of  honourable  people. 
Proud  men  had  licked  the  dust  before  him.  Patriots 
had  begged  him  to  come  up  to  the  price  of  their  puffed 
and  advertised  integrity.  He  said  after  his  fall  that  it 
was  a  dangerous  thing  to  be  a  minister,  that  there 
were  few  minds  which  would  not  be  injured  by  the 
constant  spectacle  of  meanness  and  depravity.  To 
his  honour  it  must  be  confessed  that  few  minds  have 
come  out  of  such  a  trial  so  little  damaged  in  the  most 
important  parts.  He  retired,  after  more  than  twenty 
years  of  supreme  power,  with  a  temper  not  soured, 
with  a  heart  not  hardened,  with  simple  tastes,  with 
frank  manners,  and  with  a  capacity  for  friendship. 
No  stain  of  treachery,  of  ingratitude,  or  of  cruelty 
rests  on  his  memory.  Factious  hatred,  while  flinging 
on  his  name  every  other  foul  aspersion,  was  compelled 
to  own  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  blood.  This  would 
scarcely  seem  a  high  eulogium  on  a  statesman  of  our 
times.  It  wras  then  a  rare  and  honourable  distinction. 
The  contests  of  parties  in  England  had  long  been  car- 
ried on  with  a  ferocity  unworthy  of  a  civilised  people. 
Sir  Robert  Walpole  was  the  minister  who  gave  to  our 
Government  that  character  of  lenity  which  it  has 
since  generally  preserved.  It  was  perfectly  knowrn  to 
Iiim  that  many  of  his  opponents  had  dealings  with  the 
Pretender.  The  lives  of  some  were  at  his  mercy. 
He  wanted  neither  Whig  nor  Tory  precedents  for 
using  his  advantage  unsparingly.  But  with  a  clem- 
ency to  which  posterity  has  never  done  justice,  he  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  thwarted,  vilified,  and  at  last  over- 
thrown, by  a  party  which  included  many  men  whose 
decks  were  in  his  power. 


168  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

That  he  practised  corruption  on  a  laige  scale  is,  tV 
think,  indisputable.  But  whether  he  deserves  all  the 
invectives  which  have  been  uttered  against  him  on  that 
account  may  be  questioned.  No  man  ought  to  be  se- 
verely censured  for  not  being  beyond  his  age  in  virtue. 
To  buy  the  votes  of  constituents  is  as  immoral  as  to 
buy  the  votes  of  representatives.  The  candidate  who 
gives  five  guineas  to  the  freeman  is  as  culpable  as  the 
man  who  gives  three  hundred  guineas  to  the  member. 
Yet  we  know,  that,  in  our  time,  no  man  is  thought 
wicked  or  dishonourable,  no  man  is  cut,  no  man  is 
black-balled,  because,  under  the  old  system  of  election, 
he  wras  returned  in  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  be 
returned,  for  East  Retford,  for  Liverpool,  or  for  Staf- 
ford. Walpole  governed  by  corruption,  because,  in  his 
time,  it  was  impossible  to  govern  otherwise.  Corrup- 
tion was  unnecessary  to  the  Tudors;  for  their  Parlia- 
ments were  feeble.  The  publicity  which  has  of  late 
years  been  given  to  parliamentary  proceedings  has 
raised  the  standard  of  morality  among  public  men. 
The  power  of  public  opinion  is  so  great  that,  even  be- 
fore the  reform  of  the  representation,  a  faint  suspicion 
that  a  minister  had  given  pecuniary  gratifications  to 
Members  of  Parliament  in  return  for  their  votes  would 
have  been  enough  to  ruin  him.  But,  during  the  cen- 

O  '  O 

tiny  which  followed  the  Restoration,  the  House  of 
Commons  was  in  that  situation  in  which  assemblies 
must  be  managed  by  corruption,  or  cannot  be  managed 
at  all.  It  was  not  held  in  awe  as  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, by  the  throne.  It  was  not  held  in  awe  as  in  the 
irineteenth  century,  by  the  opinion  of  the  people.  Its 
constitution  wras  oligarchical.  Its  deliberations  were 
secret.  Its  power  in  the  State  was  immense.  The 
Srovermnent  had  every  conceivable  motive  to  offej 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  1G9 

bribes.  Many  of  tlie  members,  if  they  were  not  men 
of  strict  honour  and  probity,  had  no  conceivable  motive 
to  refuse  what  the  Government  offered.  In  the  reign 
of  Charles  the  Second,  accordingly,  the  practice  of 
buying  votes  in  the  House  of  Commons  was  commenced 
by  the  daring  Clifford,  and  earned  to  a  great  extent  by 
the  crafty  and  shameless  Danby.  The  Revolution, 
great  and  manifold  as  were  the  blessings  of  which  it 
was  directly  or  remotely  the  cause,  at  first  aggravated 
this  evil.  The  importance  of  the  House  of  Commons 
was  now  greater  than  ever.  The  prerogatives  of  the 
Crown  were  more  strictly  limited  than  ever  ;  and  those 
associations  in  which,  more  than  in  its  legal  prerogatives, 
its  power  had  consisted,  were  completely  broken.  No 
prince  was  ever  in  so  helpless  and  distressing  a  situation 
as  William  the  Third.  The  party  which  defended  his 
title  was,  on  general  grounds,  disposed  to  curtail  his 
prerogative.  The  party  which  was,  on  general  grounds, 
friendly  to  prerogative,  was  adverse  to  his  title. 
There  was  no  quarter  in  which  both  his  office  and  his 
person  could  find  favour.  But  while  the  influence  of 
the  House  of  Commons  in  the  Government  was  be- 
coming paramount,  the  influence  of  the  people  over  the 
House  of  Commons  was  declining.  It  mattered  little 
•4n  the  time  of  Charles  the  First  whether  that  House 
were  or  were  jiot  chosen  by  the  people ;  it  was  certain 
io  act  for  the  people,  because  it  would  have  been  at  the 
mercy  of  the  Court  but  for  the  support  of  the  people. 
Now  that  the  Court  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  House  of 
Coir.mon?,  those  members  who  were  not  returned  by 
popular  elections  had  nobody  to  please  but  themselves, 
^ven  those  who  were  returned  by  popular  election  did 
not  live,  as  now,  under  a  constant  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. The  constituents  were  not,  as  now,  daity  ap- 


170  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

prised  of  the  votes  and  speeches  of  their  representatives. 
The  privileges  which  had  in  old  times  been  indispensa- 
bly necessary  to  the  security  and  efficiency  of  Parlia- 
ments were  now  superfluous.  But  they  were  still  care- 
fully maintained,  by  honest  legislators  from  superstitious 
veneration,  by  dishonest  legislators  for  their  own  selfish 
ends.  They  had  been  an  useful  defence  to  the  Com- 
mons during  a  long  and  doubtful  conflict  with  powerful 
sovereigns.  They  were  now  no  longer  necessary  for 
that  purpose  ;  and  they  became  a  defence  to  the  mem- 
bers against  their  constituents.  That  secrecy  which 
had  been  absolutely  necessaiy  in  times  when  the  Privy 
Council  was  in  the  habit  of  sending  the  leaders  of  Op- 
position to  the  Tower  was  preserved  in  times  when  a 
vote  of  the  House  of  Commons  was  sufficient  to  hurl 
the  most  powerful  minister  from  his  post. 

The  Government  could  not  go  on  unless  the  Par- 
liament could  be  kept  in  order.  And  how  was  the 
Parliament  to  be  kept  in  order  ?  Three  hundred  years 
ago  it  would  have  been  enough  for  a  statesman  to  have 
the  support  of  the  Crown.  It  would  now,  we  hope 
and  believe,  be  enough  for  him  to  enjoy  the  confidence 
and  approbation  of  the  great  body  of  the  middle  class. 
A  hundred  years  ago  it  would  not  have  been  enough 
to  have  both  Crown  and  people  on  his  side.  The  Par- 
liament had  shaken  off  the  control  of  the  Royal  prerog- 
ative. It  had  not  yet  fallen  under  the  control  of  public 
opinion.  A  large  proportion  of  the  members  had  abso- 
lutely no  motive  to  support  any  administration  except 
their  own  interest,  in  the  lowest  sense  of  the  word. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  country  could  be  gov- 
erned only  by  corruption.  Bolingbroke,  who  was  the 
ablest  and  the  most  vehement  of  those  who  raised  the 
clamour  against  corruption,  had  no  better  remedy  to 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.         .  171 

propose  than  that  the  Royal  prerogative  should  be 
strengthened.  The  remedy  would  no  doubt  have  been 
efficient.  The  only  question  is,  whether  it  would  not 
have  been  worse  than  the  disease.  The  fault  was  in  the 
constitution  of  the  Legislature  ;  and  to  blame  those 
ministers  who  managed  the  Legislature  in  the  only  way 
in  which  it  could  be  managed  is  gross  injustice.  They 
submitted  to  extortion  because  they  could  not  help  them- 
selves. We  might  as  well  jaccuse  the  poor  Lowland 
farmers  who  paid  black  mail  to  Rob  Roy  of  corrupting 
the  virtue  of  the  Highlanders,  as  accuse  Sir  Robert 
Walpole  of  corrupting  the  virtue  of  Parliament.  His 
crime  was  merely  this,  that  he  employed  his  money  more 
dexterously,  and  got  more  support  in  return  for  it,  than 
any  of  those  who  preceded  or  followed  him. 

He  was  himself  incorruptible  by  money.  His  domi- 
nant passion  was  the  love  of  power :  and  the  heaviest 
charge  which  can  be  brought  against  him  is  that  to  this 
passion  he  never  scrupled  to  sacrifice  the  interests  of 
his  country. 

One  of  the  maxims  which,  as  his  son  tells  us,  he  was 
most  in  the  habit  of  repeating,  was,  quieta  non  movere 
It  was  indeed  the  maxim  by  which  he  generally  regu 
lated  his  public  conduct.  It  is  the  maxim  of  a  man 
more  solicitous  to  hold  power  long  than  to  use  it  well. 
It  is  remarkable  that,  though  he  was  at  the  head  of 
affairs  during  more  than  twenty  years,  not  one  great 
measure,  not  one  important  change  for  the  better  or  for 
the  wonje  in  any  part  of  our  institutions,  marks  the 
period  of  his  supremacy.  Nor  was  this  because  he  did 
.not  clearly  see  that  many  changes  were  vory  desirable. 
He  had'  been  brought  up  in  the  school  of  toleration,  at 
the  feet  of  Somers  and  of  Burnet.  He  disliked  the 
shameful  laws  against  Dissenters.  But  he  never  could 


L72  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

be  induced  to  bring  forward  a  proposition  for  repealing 
them.  The  sufferers  represented  to  him  the  injustice 
with  which  they  were  treated,  boasted  of  their  firm  at- 
tachment to  the  House  of  Brunswick  and  to  the  Whig 
party,  and  reminded  him  of  his  own  repeated  declara- 
tions of  good  will  to  their  cause.  He  listened,  assented; 
promised,  and  did  nothing.  At  length,  the  question 
was  brought  forward  by  others,  and  the  Minister,  after 
a  hesitating  and  evasive  speech,  voted  against  it.  The 
truth  was  that  lie  remembered  to  the  latest  day  of  his 
life  that  terrible  explosion  of  high-church  feeling  which 
the  foolish  prosecution  of  a  foolish  parson  had  occasioned 
in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne.  If  the  Dissenters  had 
been  turbulent  he  would  probably  have  relieved  them  : 
but  while  he  apprehended  no  danger  from  them,  he 
would  not  run  the  slightest  risk  for  their  sake.  He 
acted  in  the  same  manner  with  respect  to  other  questions. 
He  knew  the  state  of  the  Scotch  Highlands.  He  was 
constantly  predicting  another  insurrection  in  that  part 
of  the  empire.  Yet,  during  his  long  tenure  of  power, 
he  never  attempted  to  perform  what  was  then  the  most 
obvious  and  pressing  duty  of  a  British  Statesman,  to 
break  the  power  of  the  Chiefs,  and  to  establish  the  au- 
thority of  law  through  the  furthest  corners  of  the  Island. 
Nobody  knew  better  than  he  that,  if  this  were  not  done, 
great  mischiefs  would  follow.  But  the  Highlands  were 
tolerably  quiet  in  his  time.  He  was  content  to  meet 
daily  emergencies  by  daily  expedients ;  and  he  left  the 
rest  to  his  successors.  They  had  to  conquer  the  High- 
lands in  the  midst  of  a  war  with  France  and  Spain,  be- 
cause he  bad -not  regulated  the  Highlands  in  a  time  of 

o  o 

profound  peace. 

Sometimes,  in  spite  of  all  his  caution,  he  found  thai 
neasures  which  he  had  hoped  to  carry  through  quietly 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN  173 

had  caused  great  agitation.  When  this  was  the  case 
he  generally  modified  or  withdrew  them.  It  was  thus 
that  lie  cancelled  Wood's  patent  in  compliance  with 
the  absurd  .outcry  of  the  Irish.  It  was  thus  that  he 
frittered  away  the  Porteous  Bill  to  nothing,  for  fear 
of  exasperating  the  Scotch.  It  was  thus  that  he  aban- 
doned the  Excise  Bill,  as  soon  as  he  found  that  it  was 
offensive  to  all  the  great  towns  of  England.  The 
language  which  he  held  about  that  measure  in  a  sub- 
sequent session  is  strikingly  characteristic.  Pulteney  had 
insinuated  that  the  scheme  would  be  again  brought  for- 
ward. "As  to  the  wicked  scheme,"  said  Walpole,  "  as 
the  gentleman  is  pleased  to  call  it,  which  he  would  per- 
suade gentlemen  is  not  yet  laid  aside,  I  for  my  part  assure 
this  House  I  am  not  so  mad  as  ever  again  to  engage 
in  any  thing  that  looks  like  an  Excise ;  though,  in  my 
private  opinion,  I  still  think  it  was  a  scheme  that  would 
have  tended  very  much  to  the  interest  of  the  nation." 
The  conduct  of  Walpole  with  regard  to  the  Spanish 
war  is  the  great  blemish  of  his  public  life.  Archdea- 
con Coxe  imagined  that  he  had  discovered  one  grand 
principle  of  action  to  which  the  whole  public  conduct 
of  his  hero  ought  to  be  referred.  "  Did  the  adminis- 
tration of  Walpole,"  says  the  biographer,  "  present  any 
uniform  principle  which  may  be  traced  in  every  part, 
and  which  gave  combination  and  consistency  to  the 
whole  ?  Yes,  and  that  principle  was,  THE  LOVE  OF 
PEACE,"  It  would  be  difficult,  we  tliinl:,  to  bestow 
a  higher  eulogium  on  any  statesman.  But  the  eulogiura 
is  far  too  high  for  the  merits  of  Walpole.  The  great 
ruling  principle  of  his  public  conduct  was  indeed  a 
love  of  peace,  but  not  in  the  sense  in  which  Archdea- 
con Coxe  uses  the  phrase.  The  peace  which  Walpole 
lough  t  was  not  the  peace  of  the  country,  but  the  peace 


174  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

of  Ills  own  administration.  During  the  greater  part  of 
his  public  life,  indeed,  the  two  objects  were  inseparably 
connected.  At  length  he  was  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  choosing  between  them,  of  plunging  the  State  into 
hostilities  for  which  there  was  no  just  ground,  and  by 
winch  nothing  was  to  be  got,  or  of  facing  a  violent  op- 
position in  the  country,  in  Parliament,  and  even  in  the 
roya^  closet.  No  person  was  more  thoroughly  con- 
vinced than  he  of  the  absurdity  of  the  cry  against  Spain. 
But  his  darling  power  was  at  stake,  and  his  choice  was 
soon  made.  He  preferred  an  unjust  Avar  to  a  stormy 
session.  It  is  impossible  to  say  of  a  Minister  who 
actect  thus  that  the  love  of  peace  was  the  one  grand 
principle  to  which  all  his  conduct  is  to  be  referred. 
The  governing  principle  of  his  conduct  was  neither 
love  of  peace  nor  love  of  war,  but  love  of  power. 

The  praise  to  which  he  is  fairly  entitled  is  this,  that 
he  understood  the  true  interest  of  his  country  better 
than  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and  that  he  pursued 
that  interest  whenever  it  was  not  incompatible  with 
the  interests  of  his  own  intense  and  grasping  ambition. 
It  was  only  in  matters  of  public  moment  that  he  shrank 
from  agitation  and  had  recourse  to  compromise.  In 
his  contests  for  personal  influence  there  was  no  timidity, 
no  flinching.  He  would  have  all  or  none.  Every 
member  of  the  Government  who  would  not  submit  to 
his  ascendency  was  turned  out  or  forced  to  resign. 
Liberal  of  every  thing  else,  he  was  avaricious  of  power. 
Cautious  everywhere  else,  when  power  was  at  stake 
he  had  all  the  boldness  of  Richelieu  or  Chatham.  He 
might  easily  have  secured  his  authority  if  he  could 
have  been  induced  to  divide  it  with  others.  But  he 
would  not  part  with  one  fragment  of  it  to  purchase 
iefenders  for  all  the  rest.  The  effect  of  this  policv 


TO   SIR  HORACE  MANN.  175 

was  that  lie  had  able  enemies  and  feeble  allies.  His 
most  distinguished  coadjutors  left  him  one  by  one,  and 
joined  the  ranks  of  the  Opposition.  He  faced  the  in- 
creasing array  of  his  enemies  with  unbroken  spirit,  and 
thought  it  far  better  that  they  should  attack  his  power 
than  that  they  should  share  it. 

The  Opposition  was  in  every  sense  formidable.  At 
its  head  were  two  royal  personages,  the  exiled  head  of 
the  House  of  Stuart,  the  disgraced  heir  of  the  House 
of  Brunswick.  One  set  of  members  received  direc- 
tions from  Avignon.  Another  set  held  their  consulta- 
tions and  banquets  at  Norfolk  House.  The  majority 
of  the  landed  gentry,  the  majority  of  the  parochial 
clergy,  one  of  the  universities,  and  a  strong  party  in 
the  City  of  Londen  and  in  the  other  great  towns,  were 
decidedly  adverse  to  the  Government.  Of  the  men 
of  letters,  some  were  exasperated  by  the  neglect  with 
which  the  Minister  treated  them,  a  neglect  which  was 
the  more  remarkable,  because  his  predecessors,  both 
Whig  and  Tory,  had  paid  court  with  emulous  munifi- 
cence to  the  wits  and  the  poets  ;  others  were  honestly 
inflamed  by  party  zeal ;  almost  all  lent  their  aid  to  the 
Opposition.  In  truth,  all  that  was  alluring  to  ardent 
and  imaginative  minds  was  on  that  side;  old  associa- 
tions, new  visions  of  political  improvement,  high-flown 
theories  of  loyalty,  higl>flown  theories  of  liberty,  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  Cavalier,  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
Roundhead.  The  Tory  gentleman,  fed  in  the  ccm- 
mon-rooms  of  Oxford  with  the  doctrines  of  Filmer  and 
Sacheverell,  and  proud  of  the  exploits  of  his  great  grand- 
father, who  had  charged  with  Rupert  at  Marston,  who 
bad  held  out  the  old  manor-house  against  Fairfax,  and 
who,  after  the  King's  return,  had  been  set  down  for  a 
Knight  of  the  Royal  Oak,  flew  to  that  section  of  the 


176  WALPOLE' S  LETTERS 

opposition  which,  under  pretence  of  assailing  the  ex- 
isting administration,  was  in  truth  assailing  the  reign- 
ing dynasty.  The  young  republican,  fresh  from  his 
•Livy  and  his  Lucan,  and  glowing  with  admiration  of 
•Hampden,  of  Russell,  and  of  Sydney,  hastened  with 
equal  eagerness  to  those  benches  from  which  eloquent 
voices  thundered  nightly  against  the  tyranny  and  per« 
fidy  of  courts.  So  many  young  politicians  were  caught 
by  these  declamations  that  Sir  Robert,  in  one  of  his 
best  speeches,  observed  that  the  opposition  consisted  of 
three  bodies,  the  Tories,  the  discontented  Whigs,  who 
were  known  by  the  name  of  the  Patriots,  and  the 
Boys.  In  fact  almost  every  young  man  of  warm 
temper  and  lively  imagination,  whatever  his  political 
bias  might  be,  was  drawn  into  the  party  adverse  to 
the  Government ;  and  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
among  them,  Pitt,  for  example,  among  public  men, 
and  Johnson,  among  men  of  letters,  afterwards  openly 
acknowledged  their  mistake. 

The  aspect  of  the  Opposition,  even  while  it  was  still 
a  minority  in  the  Hovise  of  Commons,  was  very  im- 
posing. Among  those  who,  in  Parliament  or  out  of 
Parliament,  assailed  the  administration  of  Walpole, 
were  Bolingbroke,  Carteret,  Chesterfield,  Argyle,  Pul- 
teney,  Wyndham,  Doddington,  Pitt,  Lyttelton,  Bar- 
nard, Pope,  Swift,  Gay,  Arbuthnot,  Fielding,  John- 
son, Thomson,  Akenside,  Glover. 

The  circumstance  that  the  Opposition  was  divided 
into  two  parties,  diametrically  opposed  to  each  other 
in  political  opinions,  was  long  the  safety  of  Walpole. 
It  was  at  last  his  ruin.  The  leaders  of  the  minority 
knew  that  it  would  be  difficult  for  them  to  bring  for- 
ward any  important  measure  without  producing  an 
mmediate  schism  in  their  party.  It  was  with  vory 


10  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  171 

great  difficulty  that  the  Whigs  in  opposition  had  been 
induced  to  give  a  sullen  and  silent  vote  for  the  repeal 
oi  the  Septennial  Act.  The  Tories,  on  the  othei 
hand,  could  not  be  induced  to  support  Pulteney's 
motion  for  an  addition  to  the  income  of  Prince  Fred- 
eric. The  two  parties  had  cordially  joined  in  calling 
out  for  a  war  with  Spain  ;  but  they  now  had  their  war. 
Hatred  of  Walpole  was  almost  the  only  feeling  which 
was  common  to  them.  On  this  one  point,  therefore, 
they  concentrated  their  whole  strength.  With  gross 
ignorance,  or  gross  dishonesty,  they  represented  the 
Minister  as  the  main  grievance  of  the  state.  His  dis- 
missal, his  punishment,  would  prove  the  certain  cure 
for  all  the  evils  which  the  nation  suffered.  What 
was  to  be  done  after  his  fall,  how  misgovernment  was 
to  be  prevented  in  future,  were  questions  to  which 
there  were  as  many  answers  as  there  were  noisy  and 
ill-informed  members  of  the  Opposition.  The  only 
cry  in  which  all  could  join  was,  "  Down  with  Wal- 
pole !  "  So  much  did  they  narrow  the  disputed  ground, 
so  purely  personal  did  they  make  the  question,  that 
they  threw  out  friendly  hints  to  the  other  members  of 
the  Administration,  and  declared  that  they  refused 
quarter  to  the  Prime  Minister  alone.  His  tools  might 
keep  their  heads,  their  fortunes,  even  their  places,  if 
only  the  great  father  of  corruption  were  given  up  to 
the  just  vengeance  of  the  nation. 

If  the  fate  of  Walpole's  colleagues  had  been  in- 
ceparably  bound  up  with  his,  he  probably  would,  even 
after  the  unfavourable  elections  of  1741,  have  been 
able  to  weather  the  storm.  But  as  soon  as  it  was 
understood  that  the  attack  wras  directed  against  him 
llone,  and  that,  if  he  were  sacrificed,  his  associates 
aiight  expect  advantageous  and  honourable  terms, 


178  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

the  ministerial  ranks  began  to  waver,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  saitvc  qid  pent  was  heard.  That  Yvralpole  had 
foul  play  is  almost  certain,  but  to  what  extent  it  is 
difficult  to  say.  Lord  Islay  was  suspected  ;  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle  something  more  than  suspected.  It 
would  have  been  strange,  indeed,  if  his  Grace  had 
been  idle  when  treason  was  hatching. 

"  Ch'  i'  ho  de'  traditor'  sempre  sospetto, 
E  Gan  fu  traditor  priina  che  nato." 

"  His  name,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  is  perfidy." 
Never  was  a  battle  more  manfully  fought  out  than 
the  last  struggle  of  the  old  statesman.  His  cleai 
judgment,  his  long  experience,  and  'his  fearless  spirit, 
enabled  him  to  maintain  a  defensive  war  through 
half  the  session.  To  the  last  his  heart  never  failed 
him ;  and,  when  at  last  he  yielded,  he  yielded  not  to 
the  threats  of  his  enemies,  but  to  the  entreaties  of  his 
dispirited  and  refractory  followers.  When  he  could 
no  longer  retain  his  power,  he  compounded  for  honour 
and  security,  and  retired  to  his  garden  and  his  paint- 
ings, leaving  to  those  who  had  overthrown  him  shame, 
discord,  and  ruin. 

Every  thing  was  in  confusion.  It  lias  been  said 
that  the  confusion  was  produced  by  the  dexterous 
policy  of  "Walpole ;  and,  undoubtedly,  he  did  his  best 
to  sow  dissension  amongst  his  triumphant  enemies. 
But  there  was  little  for  him  to  do.  Victory  had  com- 
pletely dissolved  the  hollow  truce,  which  the  two 
sections  of  the  Opposition  had  but  imperfectly  ob- 
served, even  while  the  event  of  the  contest  was  still 
doubtful.  A  thousand  questions  were  opened  in  a 
moment.  A  thousand  conflicting  claims  were  pre- 
ferred. It  was  impossible  to  follow  any  line  of  policy 
would  not  have  been  offensive  to  a  large  portior. 


TO  SIR  HOEACE  MAXST.  179 

of  the  successful  party.  It  was  impossible  to  find 
places  for  a  tenth  part  of  those  who  thought  that 
they  had  a  right  to  office.  While  the  parliamentary 
leaders  were  preaching  patience  and  confidence,  while 
their  followers  were  clamouring  for  reward,  a  still 
louder  voice  was  heard  from  without,  the  terrible 
cry  of  a  people  angry,  they  hardly  knew  with  whom, 
and  impatient  they  hardly  knew  for  what.  The  day 
of  retribution  had  arrived.  The  Opposition  reaped 
that  which  they  had  sown.  Inflamed  with  hatred 
and  cupidity,  despairing  of  success  by  any  ordinary 
mode  of  political  warfare,  and  blind  to  consequences 
which,  though  remote,  were  certain,  they  had  conjured 
up  a  devil  whom  they  could  not  lay.  They  had  made 
the  public  mind  drunk  with  calumny  and  declamation. 
They  had  raised  expectations  which  it  was  impossible 
to  satisfy.  The  downfall  of  Walpole  was  to  be  the 
beginning  of  a  political  millennium ;  and  every  en- 
thusiast had  figured  to  himself  that  millennium  accord- 
ing to  the  fashion  of  his  own  wishes.  The  republican 
expected  that  the  power  of  the  Crown  would  be  reduced 
to  a  mere  shadow,  the  high  Tory  that  the  Stuarts 
would  be  restored,  the  moderate  Tory  that  the  golden 
days  which  the  Church  and  the  landed  interest  had 
enjoyed  during  the  last  years  of  Queen  Anne,  would 
immediately  return.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
to  satisfy  everybody.  The  conquerors  satisfied  nobody 
We  have  no  reverence  for  the  memory  of  those 
who  were  then  called  the  patriots.  Yvre  are  for  the 
principles  of  good  government  against  Walpole,  and 
&>r  Walpole  against  the  Opposition.  It  was  most  de- 
sirable that  a  purer  system  should  be  introduced  ;  but, 
it  tne  old  system  was  to  be  retained,  no  man  was  sc 
ft  as  Walpole  to  be  at  the  head  of  affairs.  There 


180  VFALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

were  grievous  abuses  in  the  government,  abuses  more 
than  sufficient  to  justify  a  strong  opposition.  But  the 
party  opposed  to  Walpole,  while  they  stimulated  the 
popular  fury  to  the  highest  point,  were  at  no  pains  to 
direct  it  aright.  Indeed  they  studiously  misdirected  it, 
They  misrepresented  the  evil.  They  prescribed  ineffi- 
cient and  pernicious  remedies.  They  held  tip  a  single 
man  as  the  sole  cause  of  all  the  vices  of  a  bad  system 
which  had  been  in  full  operation  before  his  entrance 
into  public  life,  and  which  continued  to  be  in  full  oper- 
ation when  some  of  these  very  brawlers  had  succeeded 
to  liis  power.  They  thwarted  his  best  measures.  They 
drove  him  into  an  unjustifiable  war  against  his  will. 
Constantly  talking  in  magnificent  language  about 
tyranny,  corruption,  wicked  ministers,  servile  courtiers, 
the  liberty  of  Englishmen,  the  Great  Charter,  the 
rights  for  which  our  fathers  bled,  Timoleon,  Brutus, 
Hampden,  Sydney,  they  had  absolutely  nothing  to  pro- 
pose which  would  have  been  an  improvement  on  our 
institutions.  Instead  of  directing  the  public  mind  to 
definite  reforms  which  might  have  completed  the  work 
of  the  revolution,  which  might  have  brought  the  legis- 
lature into  harmony  with  the  nation,  and  which  might 
have  prevented  the  Crown  from  doing  by  influence 
what  it  could  no  longer  do  by  prerogative,  they  excited 
a  vague  craving  for  change,  by  which  they  profited 
for  a  single  moment,  and  of  which,  as  they  well 
deserved,  they  were  soon  the  victims. 

Among  the  reforms  which  the  state  then  required, 
there  were  two  of  paramount  importance,  two  which 
would  alone  have  remedied  almost  every  gross  abuse, 
and  without  which  all  other  remedies  would  have  been 
unavailing,  the  publicity  of  parliamentary  proceedings, 
Mid  the  abolition  of  the  rotten  boroughs.  Neithei  of 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  181 

these  was  thought  of.  It  seems  to  us  clear  that,  if 
these  were  not  adopted,  all  other  measures  would  have 
been  illusory.  Some  of  the  patriots  suggested  changes 
which  would,  beyond  all  doubt,  have  increased  the 
existing  evils  a  hundred  fold.  These  men  wished  to 

o 

transfer  the  disposal  of  employments  and  the  command 
of  the  army  from  the  Crown  to  the  Parliament ;  and 
this  on  the  very  ground  that  the  Parliament  had  long 
been  a  grossly  corrupt  body.  The  security  against 
malpractices  was  to  be  that  the  members,  instead  of 
having  a  portion  of  the  public  plunder  doled  out  to 
them  by  a  minister,  were  to  help  themselves. 

The  other  schemes  of  which  the  public  mind  was 
full  were  less  dangerous  than  this.  Some  of  them 
were  in  themselves  harmless.  But  none  of  them  would 
have  done  much  good,  and  most  of  them  were  ex- 
travagantly absurd.  What  they  were  we  may  learn 
from  the  instructions  which  many  constituent  bodies, 
immediately  after  the  change  of  administration,  sent 
up  to  their  representatives.  A  more  deplorable  col- 
lection of  follies  can  hardly  be  imagined.  There  is, 
in  the  first  place,  a  general  cry  for  Walpole's  head. 
Then  there  are  bitter  complaints  of  the  decay  of  trade, 
a  decay  which,  in  the  judgment  of  these  enlightened 
politicians,  was  brought  about  by  Walpole  and  cor- 
ruption. They  would  have  been  nearer  to  the  truth 
if  they  had  attributed  their  sufferings  to  the  war  into 
which  they  had  driven  Walpole  against  his  better 
judgment.  He  had  foretold  the  effects  of  his  unwill- 
ing concession.  On  the  day  when  hostilities  against 
Spain  were  proclaimed,  when  the^  heralds  were  at- 
tended into  the  city  by  the  chiefs  of  the  Opposition, 
when  the  Prince  of  Wales  himself  stopped  at  Temple- 
Bai  to  crink  success  to  "lie  English  arms,  the  Minister 


182  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

heard  all  the  steeples  of  the  city  jingling  with  a  merry 
peal,  and  muttered,  "  They  may  ring  the  bells  no's,' : 
they  will  be  wringing  their  hands  before  long." 

Another  grievance,  for  which  of  course  Walpclu 
and  corruption  were  answerable,  was  the  great  exporta- 
tion of  English  wool.  In  the  judgment  of  the  saga- 
cious electors  of  several  large  towns,  the  remedying 
of  this  evil  was  a  matter  second  only  in  importance  to 
the  hanging  of  Sir  Robert.  Ther6  were  also  earnest 
injunctions  that  the  members  should  vote  against 
standing  armies  in  time  of  peace,  injunctions  which 
were,  to  say  the  least,  ridiculously  unseasonable  in 
the  midst  of  a  war  which  was  likely  to  last,  and 
which  did  actually  last,  as  long  as  the  Parliament, 
The  repeal  of  the  Septennial  Act,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, was  strongly  pressed.  Nothing  was  more 
natural  than  that  the  voters  should  wish  for  a  trien- 
nial recurrence  of  their  bribes  and  their  ale.  We  feel 
firmly  convinced  that  the  repeal  of  the  Septennial 
Act,  unaccompanied  by  a  complete  reform  of  the 
constitution  of  the  elective  body,  would  have  been  an 
unmixed  curse  to  the  country.  The  only  rational  re- 
commendation which  we  can  find  in  all  these  instruc- 
tions is  that  the  number  of  placemen  in  Parliament 
should  be  limited,  and  that  pensioners  should  not  be 
allowed  to  sit  there.  It  is  plain,  however,  that  this 
cure  was  far  from  going  to  the  root  of  the  evil,  and 
that,  if  it  had  been  adopted  without  other  reforms, 
secret  bribery  would  probably  have  been  more  practised 
than  ever. 

We  will  give  one  more  instance  of  the  absurd  ex- 
pectations which  the  declamations  of  the  Opposition 
had  raised  in  the  country.  Akenside  was  one  of  the 
fiercest  and  most  uncompromising  of  the  young  patriots 


TO   SIR  HORACE  MANN.  183 

out  of  Parliament.  When  he  found  that  the  change 
of  administration  had  produced  no  change  of  system, 
he  gave  vent  to  his  indignation  in  the  "  Epistle  tc 
Curio,"  the  best  poem  that  he  ever  wrote,  a  poem, 
indeed,  which  seems  to  indicate,  that,  if  he  had  left 
lyric  composition  to  Gray  and  Collins,  and  had  em- 
ployed his  powers  in  grave  and  elevated  satire,  he 
might  have  disputed  the  preeminence  of  Dryden. 
But  whatever  be  the  literary  merits  of  the  epistle,  we 
can  say  nothing  in  praise  of  the  political  doctrines 
which  it  inculcates.  The  poet,  in  a  rapturous  apos- 
trophe to  the  spirits  of  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  tells 
us  what  he  expected  from  Pulteney  at  the  moment  of 
the  fall  of  the  tyrant. 

"  See  private  life  by  vdsest  arts  reclaimed, 
See  ardent  youth  to  noblest  manners  framed, 
See  us  achieve  whate'er  was  sought  by  you, 
If  Curio  —  only  Curio  —  will  be  true." 

It  was  Pulteney's  business,  it  seems,  to  abolish  faro 
and  masquerades,  to  stint  the  young  Duke  of  Marlbo- 
rough  to  a  bottle  of  brandy  a  day,  and  to  prevail  on 
Lady  Vane  to  be  content  with  three  lovers  at  a  time. 

Whatever  the  people  wanted,  they  certainly  got 
nothing.  Walpole  retired  in  safety  ;  and  the  multi- 
tude were  defrauded  of  the  expected  show  on  Tower 
Hill.  The  Septennial  Act  was  not  repealed.  The 
placemen  were  not  turned  put  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. Wool,  we  believe,  was  still  exported.  "  Pri- 
vate life"  afforded  as  much  scandal  as  if  the  reign  of 
Walpole  and  corruption  had  continued  ;  and  ''-  ardent 
youth"  fought  with  watchmen  and  betted  with  black- 
legs as  much  as  ever. 

The  colleagues  of  Walpole  had,  after  his  retreat, 
admitted  some  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Opposition  into  the 


184  WALPOLE'S   LETTERS 

Government,  and  soon  found  themselves  compelled  to 
submit  to  the  ascendency  of  one  of  their  new  allies. 
This  was  Lord  Carteret,  afterwards  Earl  Granville. 
No  public  man  of  that  age  had  greater  courage,  greater 
ambition,  greater  activity,  greater  talents  for  debate  01 
for  declamation.  No  public  man  had  such  profound 
and  extensive  learning.  He  was  familiar  with  the  an- 
cient writers,  and  loved  to  sit  up"  till  midnight  discuss- 
ing philological  and  metrical  questions  with  Bcntley. 
His  knowledge  of  modern  languages  was  prodigious. 
The  privy  council,  when  he  was  present,  needed  no 
interpreter.  He  spoke  and  wrote  French,  Italian, 
Spanish,  Portuguese,  German,  even  Swedish.  He  had 
pushed  his  researches  into  the  most  obscure  nooks  of 
literature.  He  was  as  familiar  with  Canonists  and 
Schoolmen  as  with  orators  and  poets.  He  had  read  all 
that  the  universities  of  Saxony  and  Holland  had  pro- 
duced on  the  most  intricate  questions  of  public  law. 
Harte,  in  the  preface  to  the  second  edition  of  his  His- 
tory of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  bears  a  remarkable  testi- 
mony to  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  Lord  Carteret's 
knowledge.  "  It  was  my  good  fortune  or  prudence  to 
keep  the  main  body  of  my  army  (or  in  other  words 
my  matters  of  fact)  safe  and  entire.  The  late  Earl  of 
Granville  Was  pleased  to  declare  himself  of  this  opinion  ; 
especially  when  he  found  that  I  had  made  Chemnitius 
one  of  my  principal  guides  ;  for  his  Lordship  was  ap- 
prehensive I  might  not  have  seen  that  valuable  and 
auihanlic  book,  which  is  extremely  scarce.  I  thought 
myself  happy  to  have  contented  his  Lordship  even  in 
the  lowest  degree :  for  he  understood  the  German  and 
Swedish  histories  to  the  highest  perfection." 

With  all  this  learning,  Carteret  was  far  from  being 
a  pedant.    His  was  not  one  of  those  cold  spirits  of  which 


TO   SIR  HORACE  MANX.  185 

tli2  fire  is  put  out  by  the  fuel.  In  council,  -in  debate, 
in  society,  lie  was  all  life  and  energy.  His  measures 
were  strong,  prompt,  and  claiming,  his  oratory  animated 
and  glowing.  His  spirits  were  constantly  high.  ISo 
misfortune,  public  or  private,  could  depress  him.  He 
WT.S  at  once  the  most  unlucky  and  the  happiest  public 
man  of  his  time. 

He  had  been  Secretary  of  State  in  Walpole's  Ad- 
ministration, and  had  acquired  considerable  influence 
over  the  mind  of  George  the  First.  The  other  minis- 
ters could  speak  no  German.  The  King  could  speak 
no  English.  All  the  communication  that  "Walpole  held 
with  his  master  was  in  very  bad  Latin.  Carteret  dis- 
mayed his  colleagues  by  the  volubility  with  which  he 
addressed  his  Majesty  in  German.  They  listened  with 
envy  and  terror  to  the  mysterious  gutturals  which 
might  possibly  convey  suggestions  very  little  in  unison 
with  their  wishes. 

Walpole  was  not  a  man  to  endure  such  a  colleague 
as  Carteret.  The  King  was  induced  to  give  up  his 
favourite.  Carteret  joined  the  Opposition,  and  signal- 
ised himself  at  the  head  of  that  party  till,  after  the 
retirement  of  his  old  rival,  he  again  became  Secretary 
of  State. 

During  some  months  he  was  chief  Minister,  indeed 
solo  Minister.  He  gained  the  confidence  and  regard 
of  George  the  Second.  He  was  at  the  same  time  in 
high  favour  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  As  a  debater 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  had  no  equal  among  his 
colleagues.  Among  his  opponents,  Chesterfield  alone 
coull  be  considered  as  his  match.  Confident  in  his 
talents,  and  in  the  royal  favour,  he  neglected  all  those 
means  by  Avhich  the  power  of  Walpole  had  been 
created  and  maintained.  His  head  was  full  of  treaties 


186  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

and  expeditions,  of  schemes  for  supporting  the 
of  Hungary  and  for  humbling  the  House  of  Bourbon. 
He  contemptuously  abandoned  to  others  all  the  drudg- 
ery, and,  with  the  drudgery,  all  the  fruits  of  corruption. 
The  patronage  of  the  Church  and  of  the  Bar  lie  left  to 
the  Pelhama  as  a  trifle  unworthy  of  his  care.  One  of 
the  judges,  Chief  Justice  Willes,  if  we  remember 
rightly,  went  to  him  to  beg  some  ecclesiastical  prefer- 
ment for  a  friend.  Carteret  said,  that  he  was  too  much 
occupied  with  continental  politics  to  think  about  the 
disposal  of  places  and  benefices.  "  You  may  rely  on 
it,  then,"  said  the  Chief  Justice,  •"  that  people  who 
want  places  and  benefices  will  go  to  those  who  have 
more  leisure."  The  prediction  was  accomplished.  It 
would  have  been  a  busy  time  indeed  in  which  the  Pel- 
hams  had  wanted  leisure  for  jobbing  ;  and  to  the  Pel- 
hams  the  whole  cry  of  place-hunters  and  pension-hunters 
resorted.  The  parliamentary  influence  of  the  two 
brothers  became  stronger  every  day,  till  at  length  they 
were  at  the  head  of  a  decided  majority  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Their  rival,  meanwhile,  conscious  of  his 
powers,  sanguine  in  his  hopes,  and  proud  of  the  storm 
which  he  had  conjured  up  on  the  Continent,  would 
brook  neither  superior  nor  equal.  "  His  rants,"  says 
Horace  Walpole,  "  are  amazing  ;  so  are  his  parts  and 
his  spirits."  He  encountered  the  opposition  of  his 
colleagues,  not  with  the  fierce  haughtiness  of  the  first 
Pitt,  or  the  cold  unbending  arrogance  of  the  second, 
but  with  a  gay  vehemence,  a  good-humoured  imperious- 
ness,  that  bore  every  thing  down  before  it.  The  period 
of  his  ascendency  was  known  by  the  name  of  the 
"  Drunken  Administration  ;  "  and  the  expression  wa3 
not  altogether  figurative.  His  habits  we're  extremely 
convivial ;  and  champagne  probably  lent  its  aid  to  keey 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANN.  187 

Aim  in  that  state  of  joyous  excitement  in  which  Ms  life 
was  passed. 

That  'a  rash  and  impetuous  man  of  genius  iiKe  Car- 
teret  should  not  have  been  able  to  maintain  his  ground 
in  Parliament  against  the  crafty  and  selfish  Pelhams  ij 
not  strange.  But  it  is  less  easy  to  understand  why  he 
should  have  been  generally  unpopular  throughout  tLe 
.  country.  His  brilliant  talents,  his  bold  and  open  tem- 
per, o\ight,  it  should  seem,  to  have  made  him  a  favour 
ite  with  the  public.  But  the  people  had  been  bitterll 
disappointed  ;  and  he  had  to  face  the  first  burst  of  theh 
rage.  His  close  connection  with  Pultency,  now  the 
most  detested  man  in  the  nation,  was  an  unfortunate 
circumstance.  He  had,  indeed,  only  three  partisans, 
Pulteney,  the  King,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  a  most 
singular  assemblage. 

He  was  driven  from  his  office.  He  shortly  after 
made  a  bold,  indeed  a  desperate,  attempt  to  recover 
power.  The  attempt  failed.  From  that  time  he  re- 
linquished all  ambitious  hopes,  and  retired  laughing  to 
his  books  and  his  bottle.  No  statesman  ever  enjoyed 
success  with  so  exquisite  a  relish,  or  submitted  to  defeat 
with  so  genuine  and  unforced  a  cheerfulness.  Ill  as  he 
iiad  been  used,  he  did  not  seem,  says  Horace  Walpole. 
to  have  any  resentment,  or  indeed  any  feeling  except 
thirst. 

These  letters  contain  many  good  stories,  some  of 
them,  no  doubt,  grossly  exaggerated,  about  Lord  Car- 
l.eret ;  how,  in  the  height  of  his  greatness,  he  fell  in 
love  at  first  sight  on  a  birthday  with  Lady  Sophia 
Fcrmor,  the  handsome  daughter  of  Lord  Pomfret ;  how 
ne  plagued  the  Cabinet  every  day  with  reading  to 
them  her  ladyship's  letters  ;  how  strangely  he  brought 
lome  his  bride ;  what  -fine  jewels  he  gave  her  ;  how 


188  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

he  fondled  her  at  Ranelagli ;  and  what  queen-like  state 
she  kept  in  Arlington  Street.  Horace  Walpole  has 
spoken  less  bitterly  of  Carteret  than  of  any  public 
man  of  that  time,  Fox  perhaps  excepted  ;  and  this  is 
the  more  remarkable,  because  Carteret  was  one  of  the 
most  inveterate  enemies  of  Sir  Robert.  In  the  Me- 
moirs, Horace  Walpole,  after  passing  in  review  all  the 
great  men  whom  England  had  produced  within  his 
memory,  concludes  by  saying,  that  in  genius  none  of 
them  equalled  Lord  Granville.  Smollett,  in  Hum- 
phrey Clinker,  pronounces  a  similar  judgment  in 
coarser  language.  "  Since  Granville  was  turned  out, 
there  has  been  no  minister  in  this  nation  worth  the 
meal  that  whitened  his  pemvig." 

Carteret  fell ;  and  the  reign  of  the  Pelharns  com- 
menced. It  was  Carteret's  misfortune  to  be  raised  to 
power  when  the  public  mind  was  still  smarting  from 
recent  disappointment.  The  nation  had  been  duped, 
and  was  eager  for  revenge.  A  victim  was  necessary, 
and  on  such  occasions  the  victims  of  popular  rage  are 
selected  like  the  victim  of  Jephthah,  The  first  person 
\vho  comes  in  the  way  is  made  the  sacrifice.  The 
wrath  of  the  people  had  now  spent  itself;  and  the  un- 
natural excitement  was  succeeded  by  an  unnatural  calm. 
To  an  irrational  eagerness  for  something  new,  succeeded 
an  equally  irrational  disposition  to  acquiesce  in  every 
thing  established.  A  few  months  back  the  people  had 
been  disposed  to  impute  every  crime  to  men  in  power, 
and  to  lend  a  ready  ear  to  the  high  professions  of  men 
m  opposition.  They  were  now  disposed  to  surrender 
themselves  implicitly  to  the  management  of  Ministers, 
and  to  look  with  suspicion  and  contempt  on  all  whc 
pretended  to  public  spirit.  The  name  of  patriot  had 
Become  a  by-word  of  derision.  Horace  Walpole  scarce- 


TO  S:E  HOKACE  MANN.  189 

y  exaggerated  when  be  said  that,  in  thns.e  times,  the 
tnost  popular  declaration  which  a  candidate  could  make 
on  the  hustings  was  that  he  had  never  been  and  never 
would  be  a  patriot.  At  this  conjuncture  took  place  the 
rebellion  of  the  Highland  clans.  The  alarm  produced 
by  that  event  quieted  the  strife  of  internal  factious. 
The  suppression  of  the  insurrection  crushed  forever 
the  spirit  of  the  Jacobite  party.  Room  was  made  in 
the  Government  for  a  few  Tories.  Peace  was  patched 
up  with  France  a,nd  Spain.  Death  removed  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  who  had  contrived  to  keep  together  a  small 
portion  of  that  formidable  opposition  of  which  he  had 
been  the  leader  in  the  time  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 
Almost  every  man  of  weight  in  the  House  of  Commons 
was  officially  connected  with  the  Government.  The 
even  tenor  of  the  session  of  Parliament  was  ruffled  only 
by  an  occasional  harangue  from  Lord  Egmont  on  the 
army  estimates.  For  the  first  time  since  the  accession 
of  the  Stuarts  there  was  no  opposition.  This  singular 
good  fortune,  denied  to  the  ablest  statesmen,  to  Salis- 
bury, to  Strafford,  to  Clarendon,  to  Somers,  to  Wal- 
pole, had  been  reserved  for  the  Pelhams. 

Henry  Pelham,  it  is  true,  was  by  no  means  a  con- 
temptible person.  His  understanding  was  that  of 
Walpole  on  a  somewhat  smaller  scale.  Though  not  a 
brilliant  orator,  he  was,  like  his  master,  a  good  debater, 
a  good  parliamentary  tactician,  a  good  man  of  business. 
Like  his  master  he  distinguished  himself  by  the  neatness 
mid  clearness  of  his  financial  expositions.  Here  the 
resemblance  ceased.  Their  characters  were  altogether 
dissimilar.  Walpole  was  good-humoured,  but  would 
have  his  way  :  his  spirits  were  higli,  and  his  manners 
frank  even  to  coarseness.  The  temper  of  Pelham  waa 
yielding,  but  peevish :  his  habits  were  regular,  and  hia 


L90  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

deportment  strictly  decorous.  Walpole  was  constitu 
tionally  fearless,  Pelham  constitutionally  timid.  Wal- 
pole had  to  face  a  strong  opposition  ;  but  no  man  in  the 
Government  durst  wag  a  ringer  against  him.  Almost 
all  the  opposition  which  Pelham  had  to  encounter  was 
from  members  of  the  Government  of  which  he  was  the 
head.  His  own  paymaster  spoke  against  his  estimates. 
His  own  secretary-at-war  spoke  against  his  Regency 
Bill.  In  one  day  Walpole  turned  Lord  Chesterfield, 
Lord  Burlington,  and  Lord  Clinton  out  of  the  royal 
household,  dismissed  the  highest  dignitaries  of  Scotland 
from  their  posts,  and  took  away  the  regiments  of  the 
Duke  of  Bolton  and  Lord  Cobharn,  because  he  sus- 
pected them  of  having  encouraged  the  resistance  to  his 
Excise  Bill.  He  would  far  rather  have  contended  with 
the  strongest  minority,  under  the  ablest  leaders,  than 
have  tolerated  mutiny  in  his  own  party.  It  would  have 
gone  hard  with  any  of  his  colleagues,  who  had  ventured', 
on  a  Government  question,  to  divide  the  House  of  Com- 
mons against  him.  Pelham,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
disposed  to  bear  any  thing  rather  than  drive  from 
office  any  man  round  whom  a  new  opposition  could 
form.  He  therefore  endured  with  fretful  patience  the 
,'nsubordination  of  Pitt  and  Fox.  He  thought  it  far 
better  to  connive  at  their  occasional  infractions  of  dis- 
cipline than  to  hear  them,  night  after  night,  thundering 
against  corruption  and  wicked  ministers  from  the  other 
Bide  of  the  House. 

We  wonder  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  never  tried  his 
jand  on  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.  An  interview  be- 
tween his  Grace  and  Jeanie  Deans  would  have  been 
delightful,  and  by  no  means  unnatural.  There  is 
scarcely  any  public  man  in  our  history  of  whose  man- 
ners and  conversation  so  many  particulars  have  been 


TO   SIR  HORACE  MANX.  191 

preserved.  Single  stories  may  be  unfounded  or  exag- 
gerated. But  all  the  stories  about  him,  whether  told 
by  people  who  were  perpetually  seeing  him  in  Par- 
liament and  attending  his  levee  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 
or  by  Grub  Street  writers  who  never  had  more  than  a 
glimpse  of  his  star  through  the  windows  of  his  gild<vl 
coach,  are  of  the  same  character.  Horace  Walpolc 
and  Smollett  differed  in  their  tastes  and  opinions  as 
much  as  two  human  beings  could  differ.  They  kept 
quite  different  society.  Walpole  played  at  cards  with 
countesses,  and  corresponded  with  ambassadors.  Smol- 
lett passed  his  life  surrounded  by  printer's  devils  and 
famished  scribblers.  Yet  Walpole's  Duke  and  Smol- 
lett's Duke  are  as  like  as  if  they  were  both  from  one 
hand.  Smollett's  Newcastle  runs  out  of  his  dressing- 
room,  with  his  face  covered  with  soap-suds,  to  embrace 
the  Moorish  envoy.  Walpole's  Newcastle  pushes  his 
way  into  the  Duke  of  Grafton's  sick  room  to  kiss  the 
old  nobleman's  plasters.  No  man  was  so  unmercifully 
satirised.  But  in  truth  he  was  himself  a  satire  ready 
made.  All  that  the  art  of  the  satirist  does  for  other 
men,  nature  had  done  for  him.  Whatever  was  ab- 
surd about  him  stood  out  with  grotesque  prominence 
from  the  rest  of  the  character.  lie  was  a  living,  mov- 
ing, talking,  caricature.  His  gait  was  a  shuffling  trot ; 
Uis  utterance  a  rapid  stutter ;  he  was  always  in  a 
hurry  ;  he  was  never  in  time  ;  he  abounded  in  fulsome 
caresses  and  in  hysterical  tears.  His  oratory  resem- 
bled that  of  Justice  Shallow.  It  was  nonsense  eiier- 
fescent  with  animal  spirits  and  impertinence.  Of  Im 
ignorance  many  anecdotes  remain,  some  well  authenti- 
cated, some  probably  invented  at  coffee-houses,  but  all 
exquisitely  characteristic.  "Oh — yes — yes  —  to  be 
sure —  Annapolis  must  be  defended  —  troop/;  must  be 


192  WALPOLE'S  LETTERS 

Bent  to  Annapolis  —  Pray  where  is  Annapolis?"  — 
"  Cape  Breton  an  island!  wonderful !  —  show  it  me  in 
the  map.  So  it  is,  sure  enough.  My  dear  sir,  you 
always  bring  us  good  IICAVS.  I  must  go  and  tell  the 
King  that  Cape  Breton  is  an  island." 

And  this  man  was,  during  near  thirty  years,  Secre- 
tary of  State,  and,  during  near  ten  years,  First  Lord 
of  the  Treasury  !  His  large  fortune,  his  strong  heredi- 
tary connection,  his  great  parliamentary  interest,  will 
not  alone  explain  this  extraordinary  fact.  His  success 
is  a  signal  instance  of  what  may  be  effected  by  a  man 
who  devotes  his  whole  heart  and  soul  without  reserve 
to  one  object.  He  was  eaten  up  by  ambition.  His 
love  of  influence  and  authority  resembled  the  avarice 
of  the  old  usurer  in  the  Fortunes  of  Nigel.  It  was  so 
intense  a  passion  that  it  supplied  the  place  of  talents, 
that  it  inspired  even  fatuity  with  cunning.  "  Have 
no  money  dealings  with  my  father,"  says  Martha  to 
Lord  Glenvarloch ;  "  for,  dotard  as  he  is,  he  will 
make  an  ass  of  you."  It  was  as  dangerous  to  have 
any  political  connection  with  Newcastle  as  to  buy  and 
sell  with  old  Trapbois.  He  was  greedy  after  power 
with  a  greediness  all  his  own.  He  was  jealous  of  all 
his  colleagues,  and  even  of  his  OWTI  brother.  Under 
the  disguise  of  levity  he  was  false  beyond  all  example 
t»f  political  falsehood.  All  the  able  men  of  his  time 
ridiculed  him  as  a  dunce,  a  driveller,  a  child  who  never 
knew  his  own  mind  for  an  hour  together ;  and  he 
overreached  them  all  round. 

If  the  country  had  remained  at  peace,  it  is  not  im- 
possible that  this  man  would  have  continued  at  the 
head  of  affairs  without  admitting  any  other  person  to 
a  share  of  his  authority  until  the  throne  was  filled  by 
ft  new  Prince,  who  brought  with  him  new  maxims  of 


TO  SIR  HORACE  MANX.  193 

government,  new  favourites,  and  a  strong  will.  But 
the  inauspicious  commencement  of  the  Seven  Years' 
War  brought  on  a  crisis  to  which  Newcastle  was  alto 
gether  unequal.  After  a  calm  of  fifteen  years  the 
spirit  of  the  nation  was  again  stirred  to  its  inmost 
depths.  In  a  few  days  the  whole  aspect  of  the  politi- 
cal world  was  changed. 

But  that  change  is  too  remarkable  an  event  to  be 
discussed  at  the  end  of  an  article  already  more  than 
sufficiently  long.  It  is  probable  that  we  may,  a*.  E.G 
remote  time,  resume  the  subject. 

voi*  m.  tt 


WILLIAM  PITT,   EARL  OF   CHATHAM.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  January,  1S34.) 

I'fioTjcii  several  years  have  elapsed  since  the  pub- 
lication of  this  work,  it  is  still,  we  believe,  a  new 
publication  to  most  of  our  "eaders.  Nor  are  we  sur- 
prised at  this.  The  book  is  large,  and  the  style  heavy 
The  information  which  Mr.  Thackeray  has  obtained 
from  the  State  Paper  Office  is  new  ;  but  much  of  it 
is  very  uninteresting.  The  rest  of  his  narrative  is 
very  little  better  than  Giftbrd's  or  Tomline's  Life  of 
the  second  Pitt,  and  tells  us  little  or  nothing  that  may 
not  be  found  quite  as  well  told  in  the  Parliamentary 
History,  the  Annual  Register,  and  other  works  equally 
common. 

Almost  every  mechanical  employment,  it  is  said,  has 
a  tendency  to  injure  some  one  or  other  of  the  bodily 
organs  of  the  artisan.  Grinders  of  cutlery  die  of  con- 
sumption ;  weavers  are  stunted  in  their  growth  ;  smiths 
become  blear-eyed.  In  the  same  manner  almost  every 
intellectual  employment  has  a  tendency  to  produce 
some  intellectual  malady.  Biographers,  translators, 
editors,  all,  in  short,  who  employ  themselves  in  illus- 

1  A  Utftory  of  the  R!$ht  IlnnourcUe  William  Pin.  Earl  of  Chatham,  con- 
l&bxb/ig  his  Speeches  in  Parliament,  a  confiderable  Portion  of  his  Corre- 
tpondence  icktn  Secretary  of  State,  upon  French,  Spanish,  and  American 
Affairs,  never  before  publislted;  and  an  Account  of  Hie,  priufipal  Events  and 
'Perttms  of  his  Time,  connected  with  his  Life,  Sentiments,  and  Administration. 
\{y  lk»  REV.  FBASCIS  THACKERAY,  A.  M.  2  vols.  4to.  London:  1827. 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  195 

trating  the  lives  or  the  writings  of  others,  are  pecu- 
liarly exposed  to  the  Lues  Baswelliana,  or  disease  of 
admiration.  But  we  scarcely  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  a  patient  so  far  gone  in  this  distemper  as  Mr. 
Thackeray.  He  is  not  satisfied  with  forcing  us  to 
confess  that  Pitt  was  a  great  orator,  a  vigorous  minis-  . 
ter,  an  honourable  and  high-spirited  gentleman.  He 
will  have  it  that  all  virtues  and  all  accomplishments 
met  in  his  hero.  In  spite  of  Gods,  men,  and  columns, 
Pitt  must  be  a  poet,  a  poet  capable  of  producing  a 
heroic  poem  of  the  first  order ;  and  we  are  assured 
that  we  ought  to  find  many  charms  in  such  lines  as 
these  :  — 

"  Midst  all  the  tumults  of  the  warring  sphere, 
My  light-charged  bark  may  haply  g[ide ; 
Some  gale  may  Avat't,  some  conscious  thought  shall  cheer, 
And  the  small  freight  unanxious  t/lide."  1 

Pitt  was  in  the  army  for  a  few  months  in  time  of 
peace.  Mr.  Thackeray  accordingly  insists  on  our  con- 
fessing that,  if  the  young  cornet  had  remained  in  the 
service  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  ablest  com- 
manders that  ever  lived.  But  this  is  not  all.  Pitt, 
it  seems,  was  not  merely  a  great  poet  in  esse,  and  a 
great  general  in  posse,  but  a  finished  example  of  moral 
excellence,  the  just  man  made  perfect.  He  was  in 
the  right  when  he  attempted  to  establish  an  inquisi- 
tion, and  to  give  bounties  for  perjury,  in  order  to  get 
Wai  pole's  head.  He  was  in  the  right  when  he  de- 
clared Walpole  to  have  been  an  excellent  minister. 
Ho  was  in  the  right  when,  being  in  opposition,  he 
maintained  that  no  peace  ought  to  be  made  with  Spain, 
till  she  should  formally  renounce  the  right  of  search. 

1  The  quotation  is  faithfully  made  from  Mr.  Thackeray.  Perhaps  Pitt 
wrote  giride  in  the  fourth  line. 


196  WILLIAM  PITT,- 

He  was  in  the  riglit  when,  being  in  office,  he  silently 
acquiesced  in  a  treaty  by  which  Spain  did  not  renounce 
the  right  of  search.  When  he  left  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle, when  he  coalesced  with  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
when  he  thundered  against  subsidies,  when  he  lavished 
subsidies  with  unexampled  profusion,  Avhen  he  exe- 
crated the  Hanoverian  connection,  when  he  declared 
that  Hanover  ought  to  be  as  dear  to  us  as  Hampshire, 
he  was  still  invariably  speaking  the  language  of  a  vir- 
tuous and  enlightened  statesman. 

The  truth  is  that  there  scarcely  ever  lived  a  person 
who  had  so  little  claim  to  this  sort  of  praise  as  Pitt. 
He  was  undoubtedly  a  great  man.  But  his  was  not  a 
complete  and  well-proportioned  greatness.  The  pub- 
lic life  of  Hampden  or  of  Somers  resembles  a  regular 
drama,  which  can  be  criticised  as  a  whole,  and  every 
scene  of  which  is  to  be  viewed  in  connection  with  the 
main  action.  The  public  life  of  Pitt,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  rude  though  striking  piece,  a  piece  abounding 
in  incongruities,  a  piece  without  any  unity  of  plan,  but 
redeemed  by  some  noble  passages,  the  effect  of  which  is 
increased  by  the  tameness  or  extravagance  of  what 
precedes  and  of  what  follows.  His  opinions  were  un- 
fixed. His  conduct  at  some  of  the  most  important  con- 
junctures of  his  life  was  evidently  determined  by  pride 
and  resentment.  He  had  one  fault,  which  of  all 
human  faults  is  most  rarely  found  in  company  with 
true  greatness.  He  was  extremely  affected.  He  was 
an  almost  solitary  instance  of  a  man  of  real  genius,  and 
of  a  brave,  lofty,  and  commanding  spirit,  without  sim- 
plicity of  character.  He  was  an  actor  in  the  Closet,  an 
actor  at  Council,  an  actor  in  Parliament ;  and  even  in 
private  society  he  could  not  lay  aside  his  theatrical 
ones  and  attitudes.  We  know  that  one  of  the  most 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  197 

•listinguished  of  his  partisans  often  complained  that  he 
could  never  obtain  admittance  to  Lord  Chatham's  room 
till  every  thing  was  ready  for  the  representation,  till  the 
dresses  and  properties  were  all  correctly  disposed,  till 
the  light  was  thrown  with  Remhrandt-like  effect  on  the 
head  of  the  illustrious  performer,  till  the  flannels  had 
been  arranged  with  the  air  of  a  Grecian  drapery,  and 
the  crutch  placed  as  gracefully  as  that  of  Belisarius  or 
Lear. 

Yet,  with  all  his  faults  and  affectations,  Pitt  had,  in 
a  very  extraordinary  degree,  many  of  the  elements  of 
greatness.  lie  had  genius,  strong  passions,  quick  sen- 
sibility, and  vehement  enthusiasm  for  the  grand  and 
the  beautiful.  There  was  something  about  him  which 
ennobled  tergiversation  itself.  He  often  went  wrong, 
very  wrong.  But,  to  quote  the  language  of  Words- 
\vortl;, 

"He  still  retained,' 

'Mid  such  abasement,  what  lie  had  received 
From  nature,  an  intense  and  glowing  mind." 

In  an  age  of  low  and  dirty  prostitution,  in  the  age  of 
Dodington  and  Sandys,  it  was  something  to  have  a 
man  who  might  perhaps,  under  some  strong  excitement, 
have  been  tempted  to  ruin  his  country,  but  who  never 
would  have  stooped  to  pilfer  from  her,  a  man  whose 
errors  arose,  not  from  a  sordid  desire  of  gain,  but  from 
a  fierce  thirst  for  power,  for  glory,  and  for  vengeance. 
History  owes  to  him  this  attestation,  that,  at  a  time 
when  any  thing  short  of  direct  embezzlement  of  the 
public  money  was  considered  as  quite  fair  in  public  men, 
he  showed  the  most  scrupulous  disinterestedness  ;  that, 
at  a  time  when  it  seemed  to  be  generally  taken  for 
granted  that  Government  could  be  upheld  only  by  the 
basest  and  most  immoral  arts,  he  appealed  to  the  better 


198  WILLIAM  PITT, 

and  nobler  parts  of  human  nature  ;  that  he  made  u 
brave  and  spk-ndid  attempt  to  do,  by  means  of  public 
opinion,  Avhat  no  other  statesman  of  his  day  thought  it 
possible  to  do,  except  by  means  of  corruption  ;  that  he 
looked  for  support,  not,  like  the  Pelhams,  to  a  strong 
aristocratical  connection,  not,  like  Bute,  to  the  personal 
favour  of  the  sovereign,  but  to  the  middle  class  of  Eng- 
lishmen ;  that  he  inspired  that  class  with  a  firm  confi- 
dence in  his  integrity  and  ability  ;  that,  backed  by 
them,  he  forced  an  unwilling  court  and  an  unwilling 
oligarchy  to  admit  him  to  an  ample  share  of  power ; 
and  that  he  used  his  power  in  such  a  manner  as  clearly 
proved  him  to  have  sought  it,  not  for  the  sake  of  profit 
or  patronage,  but  from  a  wish  to  establish  for  himself 
a  great  and  durable  reputation  by  means  of  eminent 
services  rendered  to  the  state. 

The  family  of  Pitt  was  wealthy  and  respectable. 
His  grandfather  was  Governor  of  Madras,  and  brought 
back  from  India  that  celebrated  diamond,  which  the 
Regent  Orleans,  by  the  advice  of  Saint  Simon,  pur- 
chased for  upwards  of  two  millions  of  livres,  and  which 
is  still  considered  as  the  most  precious  of  the  crown 
jewels  of  France.  Governor  Pitt  bought  estates  and 
rotten  boroughs,  <fcnd  sat  in  the  House  of  Commons  for 
Old  Sarum.  His  son  Robert  was  at  one  time  member 
for  Old  Sarum,  and  at  another  for  Oakhampton. 
Robert  had  two  sons.  Thomas,  the  elder,  inherited 
the  estates  and  the  parliamentary  interest  of  his  father. 
The  second  was  the  celebrated  William  Pitt. 

lie  was  born  in  November,  1708.  About  the  early 
part  of  his  life  little  more  is  known  than  that  he  was 
educated  at  Eton,  and  that  at  seventeen  he  was  en- 
tered at  Trinity  College,  Oxford.  During  the  second 
Fear  of  his  residence  at  the  University,  George  tha 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  199 

First  died  ;  and  the  event  was,  after  the  fasnion  of  that 
generation,  celebrated  by  the  Oxonians  in  many  mid- 
dling copies  of  verses.  On  this  occasion  Pitt  published 
some  Latin  lines,  which  Mr.  Thackeray  has  preserved. 
They  prove  that  the  young  student  had  but  a  very 
limited  knowledge  even  of  the  mechanical  part  of- his 
art.  All  true  Etonians  will  hear  with  concern  that 
their  illustrious  schoolfellow  is  guilty  of  making  tho 
first  syllable  in  labenti  short.1  The  matter  of  the 
poem  is  as  worthless  as  that  of  any  college  exercise 
that  was  ever  written  before  or  since.  There  is,  of 
course,  much  about  Mars,  Themis,  Neptune,  and 
Cocytus.  The  muses  are  earnestly  entreated  to  weep 
over  the  urn  of  Caesar  ;  for  Cajsar,  says  the  Poet, 
loved  the  Muses ;  Caasar,  who  could  not  read  a  line 
of  Pope,  and  who  loved  nothing  but  punch  and  fat 
women. 

Pitt  had  been,  from  his  school-days,  cruelly  tor- 
mented by  the  gout,  and  was  advised  to  travel  for  his 
health.  He  accordingly  left  Oxford  without  taking  a 
degree,  and  visited  France  and  Italy.  Pie  returned, 
however,  without  having  received  much  benefit  from 
his  excursion,  and  continued,  till  the  close  of  his  life, 
to  suffer  most  severely  from  his  constitutional  malady. 

His  father  was  now  dead,  and  had  left  very  little  to 
the  younger  children.  It  was  necessary  that  William 
should  choose  a  profession.  He  decided  for  the  army, 
and  a  cornet's  commission  was  procured  for  him  in  the 
Blues. 

But,  small  as  his  fortune  was,  his  family  had  both  the 
power  and  the  inclination  to  serve  him.  At  the  gen- 
eral election  of  1784,  his  elder  brother  Thomas  was 

1  So  Mr,  Thackeray  has  printed  the  poem.     But  it  may  be  cnaritabi/ 
loped  that  Pitt  wrote  labanii. 


200  WILLIAM  PITT, 

chosen    both   for   Old    Sarum   and   for    Oakhai.ipton, 
When    Parliament   met  in   1735,  Thomas   made   his ' 
election   to  serve  for  Oakhampton,  and  William  was 
returned  for  Old  Sarum. 

Walpole  had  now  been,  during  fourteen  rears,  at  the 
head  of  affairs.  He  had  risen  to  power  under  the  most 
favorable  circumstances.  The  whole  of  the  Whig 
party,  of  that  party  which  professed  peculiar  attach- 
ment to  the  principles  of  the  Revolution,  and  which 
exclusively  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  the  reigning 
house,  had  been  united  in  support  of  his  administration. 
Happily  for  him,  he  had  been  out  of  office  when  the 
South-Sea  Act  was  passed  ;  and  though  he  does  not 
appear  to  have  foreseen  all  the  consequences  of  that 
measure,  he  had  strenuously  opposed  it,  as  he  had  op- 
posed all  the  measures,  good  and  bad,  of  Sunderland's 
administration.  When  the  South-Sea  Company  were 
voting  dividends  of  fifty  per  cent.,  when  a  hundred 
pounds  of  their  stock  were  selling  for  eleven  hundred 
pounds,  when  Threadneedle  Street  was  daily  crowded 
with  the  coaches  of  dukes  and  prelates,  when  divines  and 
philosophers  turned  gamblers,  when  a  thousand  kindred 
bubbles  were  daily  blown  into  existence,  the  periwig- 
company,  and  the  Spanish-jackass-company,  and  the 
quicksilver-fixation-company,  Walpole's  calm  good 
sense  preserved  him  from  the  general  infatuation.  He 
condemned  the  prevailing  madness  in  public,  and  turned 
a  considerable  sum  by  taking  advantage  of  it  in  private. 
When  the  crash  came,  when  ten  thousand  families 
were  reduced  to  beggary  in  a  day,  when  the  people,  iri 
the  frenzy  of  their  rage  and  despair,  clamoured,  not 
only  against  the  lower  agents  in  the  juggle,  but  against 
the  Hanoverian  favouril.es,  against  the  English  minis- 
ters, against  the  King  himself,  when  Parliament  met, 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM  201 

eager  for  confiscation  and  blood,  when  members  of  the 
House  of  Commons  proposed  that  the  directors  should 
be  treated  like  parricides  in  ancient  Romye,  tied  up  in 
sacks,  and  thrown  into  the  Thames,  Walpole  was  the 
man  on  whom  all  parties  turned  their  eyes.  Four 
years  before  he  had  been  driven  from  power  by  the  in- 
trigues of  Sunderland  and  Stanhope;  and  the  lead  in 
the  House  of  Commons  had  been  intrusted  to  Craggs 
and  Aislabie.  Stanhope  was  no  more.  Aislabie  was 
expelled  from  Parliament  on  account  of  his  disgraceful 
conduct  regarding  the  South-Sea  scheme.  Craggs  was 
perhaps  saved  by  a  timely  death  from  a  similar  mark 
of  infamy.  A  large  minority  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons voted  for  a  severe  censure  on  Sunderland,  who, 
finding  it  impossible  to  withstand  the  force  of  the  pre- 
vailing sentiment,  retired  from  office,  and  outlived  his 
,-etirement-but  a  very  short  time.  The  schism  which 
had  divided  the  Whig  party  was  now  completely  healed. 
Walpole  had  no  opposition  to  encounter  except  that  of 
the  Tories  ;  and  the  Tories  were  naturally  regarded  by 
the  King  with  the  strongest  suspicion  and  dislike. 

For  a  time  business  went  on  with  a  smoothness  and 
a  despatch  such  as  had  not  been  known  since  the  days 
of  the  Tudors.  During  the  session  of  1724,  for  ex- 
ample, there  was  hardly  a  single  division  except  on 
private  bills.  It  is  not  impossible  that,  by  taking  the 
course  which  Pelham  afterwards  took,  by  admitting 
into  the  government  all  the  rising  talents  and  ambition 
of  the  Whig  party,  and  by  making  room  here  and 
there  for  a  Tory  not  unfriendly  to  the  House  of  Bruns- 
wick, Walpole  might  have  averted  the  tremendous 
conflict  in  which  he  passed  the  later  yoars  of  his  ad- 
ministration, and  in  which  he  was  at  length  vanquished. 
The  Opposition  which  overthrew  him  was  an  Opposi- 


202  WILLIAM  PITT. 

tion  created  by  his  own  policy,  by  his  own  insatiable 
love  of  power. 

In  the  very  act  of  forming  his  Ministry  he  turned 
one  of  the  ablest  and  most  attached  of  his  supporters 
into  a  deadly  enemy.  Pulteney  had  strong  public  and 
private  claims  to  a  high  situation  in  the  new  .arrange- 
ment. His  fortune  was  immense.  His  private  char- 
acter was  respectable.  He  was  already  a  distinguished 
speaker.  He  had  acquired  official  experience  in  an  im- 
portant post.  He  had  been,  tlrrough  all  changes  of 
fortune,  a  consistent  Whig.  When  the  Whig  party 
was  split  into  two  sections,  Pulteney  had  resigned  a 
valuable  place,  and  had  followed  the  fortunes  of  Wai- 
pole.  Yet,  when  Walpole  returned  to  power,  Pulteney 
was\  not  invited  to  take  office.  An  angry  discussion 
took  place  between  the  friends.  The  Ministry  offered 
a  peerage.  It  was  impossible  for  Pulteney  not  to  dis- 
cern the  motive  of  such  an  offer.  He  indignantly  re- 
fused to  accept  it.  For*  some  time  he  continued  to 
brood  over  his  wrongs,  and  to  watch  for  an  opportu- 
nity of  revenge.  As  soon  as  a  favourable  conjuncture 
arrived  he  joined  the  minority,  and  became  the  great- 
est leader  of  Opposition  that  the  House  of  Commons 
had  ever  seen. 

Of  all  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  Carteret  was  the 
most  eloquent  and  accomplished.  His  talents  for  de- 
bate were  of  the  first  order ;  his  knowledge  of  foreign 
affairs  was  superior  to  that  of  any  living  statesman;  hi* 
attachment  to  the  Protestant  succession  was  undoubted. 
But  there  was  not  room  in  one  Government  for  him 
and  Walpole.  Carteret  retired,  and  was,  from  that  time 
forward,  one  of  the  most  persevering  and  formidable 
enemies  of  his  old  colleague. 

If   there  was  any  man  with  whom  Waljole  could 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  203 

have  consented  to  make  a  partition  of  power,  that  man 
was  Lord  Townsliend.  They  were  distant  kinsmen 
by  birth,  near  kinsmen  by  marriage.  They  had  been 
friends  from  childhood.  They  had  been  schoolfellows 
at  Eton.  They  were  country  neighbors  in  Norfolk. 
They  had  been  in  office  together  under  Godolphin. 
They  had  gone  into  opposition  together  when  Harley 
rose  to  power.  They  had  been  persecuted  by  the  same 
House  of  Commons.  They  had,  after  the  death  ol 
Anne,  been  recalled  together  to  office.  They  had  again 
been  driven  out  together  by  Sunderland,  and  had  again 
come  back  together  when  the  influence  of  Sunderland 
had  declined.  Their  opinions  on  public  affairs  almost 
always  coincided.  They  were  both  men  of  frank,  gen- 
erous, and  compassionate  natures.  Their  intercourse 
had  been  for  many  years  affectionate  and  cordial.  But 
the  ties  of  blood,  of  marriage,  and  of  friendship,  the 
memory  of  mutual  services,  the  memory  of  common 
triumphs  and  common  disasters,  were  insufficient  to 
restrain  that  ambition  which  domineered  over  all  the 
virtues  and  vices  of  \Yulpole.  He  was  resolved,  to  use 
his  own  metaphor,  that  the  firm  of  the  house  should  be, 
not  Townshcnd  and  Walpole,  but  Walpole  and  Towns- 
liend. At  length  the  rivals  proceeded  to  personal  abuse 
before  a  large  company,  seized  each  other  by  the  collar, 
and  grasped  their  swords.  The  women  squalled.  The 
men  parted  the  combatants.  By  friendly  intervention 
the  scandal  of  a  duel  between  cousins,  brothers-in-law, 
old  friends,  and  old  collengiies,  was  prevented.  But 
the  disputants  could  not  long  continue  to  act  together. 
Townsliend  retired,  and,  with  rare  moderation  and 
public  spirit,  refused  to  take  any  part  in  politics,  lie 
sould  not,  he  said,  trust  his  temper.  He  feared  that 
the  recollection  of  his  private  wrongs  might  impel  him 


204  WILLIAM  PITT, 

to  follow  the  example  of  Pulteney,  and  to  oppose 
measures  -which  he  thought  generally  beneficial  .to  the 
country.  lie  therefore  never  visited  London  after  liis 
resignation,  but  passed  the  closing  years  of  his  life  in  dig- 
nity and  repose  among  his  trees  and  pictures  at  llainham. 

Next  went  Chesterfield.  He  too  was  a  Whig  and  a 
Mend  of  the  Protestant  succession.  He  was  an  orator, 
a  courtier,  a  wit,  and  a  man  of  letters.  He  was  at  the 
head  of  ton  in  days  when,  in  order  to  be  at  the  head  of 
ton,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  be  dull  and  supercilious.  It 
was  evident  that  he  submitted  impatiently  to  the  ascen- 
dency of  Walpole.  He  murmured  against  the  Excise 
Bill.  His  brothers  voted  against  it  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  The  Minister  acted  with  characteristic  cau- 
tion and  characteristic  energy ;  caution  in  the  conduct 
of  public  affairs ;  energy  where  his  own  supremacy  was 
concerned.  He  withdrew  his  Bill,  and  turned  out  all 
his  hostile  or  wavering  colleagues.  Chesterfield  was 
stopped  on  the  great  staircase  of  St.  James's  and  sum- 
moned to  deliver  up  the  staff  which  he  bore  as  Lord 
Steward  of  the  Household.  A  crowd  of  noble  and  pow- 
erful functionaries,  the  Dukes  of  Montrose  and  Bolton, 
Lord  Burlington,  Lord  Stair,  Lord  Cobham,  Lord 
Marchmont,  Lord  Clinton,  were  at  the  same  time  dis- 
missed from  the  service  of  the  Crown. 

Not  long  after  these  events  the  Opposition  was  rein* 
forced  by  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  a  man  vainglorious  in- 
deed and  fickle,  but  brave,  eloquent,  and  popular.  It 
was  in  a  great  measure  owing  to  his  exertions  that  the 
Act  of  Settlement  had  been  peaceably  carried  into  ef- 
fect in  England  immediately  after  the  death  of  Anne, 
and  that  the  Jacobite  rebellion  which,  during  the  follow- 
ing year,  broke  out  in  Scotland,  had  been  suppressed. 
He  too  carried  over  to  the  minority  the  aid  of  his  great 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  205 

name,  his  talents,  and  his  paramount  influence  in  his 
native  country. 

In  each  of  these  cases  taken  separately,  a  skilful 
defender  of  Walpole  might  perhaps  make  out  a  case 
for  him.  But  when  we  see  that  during  a  long  course 
of  years  all  the  footsteps  are  turned  the  same  way 
that  all  the  most  eminent  of  those  public  men  wlic 
agreed  with  the  Minister  in  their  general  views  of 
policy  left  him,  one  after  another,  with  sore  and  irri- 
tated minds,  we  find  it  impossible  not  to  believe  that 
the  real  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  is  to  be  found 
in  the  words  of  his  son,  "  Sir  Robert  Walpole  loved 
power  so  much  that  he  would  not  endure  a  rival." 
Hume  has  described  this  famous  minister  with  great 
felicity  in  one  short  sentence,  —  "  moderate  in  exercis- 
ing power,  not  equitable  in^  engrossing  it."  Kind- 
hearted,  jovial,  and  placable  as  Walpole  was,  he  was 
yet  a  man  with  whom  no  person  of  high  pretensions 
and  high  spirit  could  long  continue  to  act.  He  had, 
therefore,  to  stand  against  an  Opposition  containing  all 
the  most  accomplished  statesmen  of  the  age,  with  no 
better  support  than  that  which  he  received  from  per- 
sons like  his  brother  Horace  or  Henry  Pelham,  whose 
industrious  mediocrity  gave  no  cause  for  jealousy,  or 
from  clever  adventurers,  whose  situation  and  character 

diminished  the  dread  which  their  talents  might  have 

*       - 
inspired.     To  this  last  class  belonged  Fox,  who  was 

too  poor  to  live  without  office  ;  Sir  William  Yonge,  of 
whom  Walpole  himself  said,  that  nothing  but  such 
parts  c  uild  buoy  up  such  a  character,  and  that  noth- 
ing but  such  a  character  could  drag  down  such  parts , 
and  Wilmington,  whose  private  morals  lay,  justly ^«L 
anjustly,  under  imputations  cf  the  worst  kind. 

The  discontented  Whigs  were,  not  perhaps  in  nura- 


206  WILLIAM  PITT, 

her,  but  certainly  in  ability,  experience,  and  -weight, 
by  far  the  most  important  part  of  the  Opposition. 
The  Tories  furnished  little  more  than  rows  of  pon- 
derous foxhunters,  fat  with  Staffordshire  or  Devon- 
shire ale,  men  who  drank  to  the  King  over  the  water, 
and  believed  that  all  the  fundholders  were  Jews,  men 
whose  religion  consisted  in  hating  the  Dissenters,  and 
whose  political  researches  had  led  them  to  fear,  like 
Squire  Western,  that  their  land  might  be  sent  over 
to  Hanover  to  be  put  in  the  sinking-fund.  The 
eloquence  of  these  zealous  squires,  the  remnant  of  the 
once  formidable  October  Club,  seldom  went  beyond  a 
hearty  Aye  or  No.  Very  few  members  of  this  party 
had  distinguished  themselves  much  in  Parliament,  or 
could,  under  any  circumstances,  have  been  called  to 
fill  any  high  office ;  and  those  few  had  generally,  like 
Sir  William  Wyndham*  learned  in  the  company  of 
their  new  associates  the  doctrines  of  toleration  and 
political  liberty,  and  might  indeed  with  strict  propriety 
be  called  Whigs. 

It  was  to  the  Whigs  in  Opposition,  the  Patriots,  as 
they  were  called,  that  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
English  youth  "who  at  tliis  season  entered  into  public 
life  attached  themselves.  These  inexperienced  poli 
ticians  felt  all  the  enthusiasm  which  the  name  of 
liberty  naturally  excites  in  young  and  ardent  minds. 
They  conceived  that  the  theory  of  the  Tory  Oppo- 
sition and  the  practice  of  Walpole's  Government  were 
alike  inconsistent  with  the  principles  of  liberty.  They 
accordingly  repaired  to  the  standard  which  Pulteney 
had  set  up.  While  opposing  the  Whig  minister,  they 
professed  a  firm  adherence  to  the  purest  doctrines  of 
Wliiggism.  He  was  the  schismatic ;  they  were  the 
true  Catholics,  the  peculiar  people,  the  depositaries 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  207 

of  tlie  orthodox  faith  of  Hampden  and  Russell,  the 
one  sect  \vhich,  amidst  the  corruptions  generated  by 
time  and  by  the  Jong  possession  of  power,  had  pre- 
served inviolate  the  principles  of  the  Revolution.  Of 
the  young  men  who  attached  themselves  to  this  por- 
tion of  the  Opposition  the  most  distinguished  were 
Lyttelton  and  Pitt. 

When  Pitt  entered  Parliament,  the  whole  political 
world  was  attentively  watching  the  progress  of  an  event 
which  soon  added  great  strength  to  the  Opposition,  and 
particularly  to  that  section  of  the  Opposition  in  which 
the  young  statesman  enrolled  himself.  The  Prince  of 
Wales  was  gradually  becoming  more  and  more  estranged 
from  his  father  and  his  father's  ministers,  and  more  and 
more  friendly  to  the  Patriots. 

Nothing  is  more  natural  than~  that,  in  a  monarchy 
where  a  constitutional  Opposition  exists,  the  heir-appar- 
ent of  the  throne  should  put  himself  at  the  head  of  that 
Opposition.  He  is  impelled  to  such  a  course  by  every 
feeling  of  ambition  and  of  vanity.  He  cannot  be  more 
than  second  in  the  estimation  of  the  party  which  is  in. 
He  is  sure  to  be  the  first  member  of  the  party  which  is 
out.  The  highest  favour  which  the  existing  adminis- 
tration can  expect  from  him  is  that  he  will  not  discard 
them.  But,  if  he  joins  the  Opposition,  all  his  associ- 
ates expect  that  he  will  promote  them  ;  and  the  feel- 
ings which  men  entertain  towards  one  from  whom  they 
hope  to  obtain  great  advantages  which  they  have  not 
are  far  warmer  than  the  feelings  with  which  they  regard 
one  who,  at  the  very  utmost,  can  only  leave  them  in 
possession  of  what  they  already  have.  An  heir-apparent, 
therefore,  who  wishes  to  enjoy,  in  the  highest  perfec- 
tion, all  the  pleasure  that  can  be  derived  from  eloquent 
flattery  and  profound  respect,  will  always  join  thosa 


208  WILLIAM  PITT, 

who  are  struggling  to  force  themselves  into  jjower. 
This  is,  we  believe,  the  true  explanation  of  a  fact 
which  Lord  Granville  attributed  to  some  natural  pecu- 
liarity in  the  illustrious  House  of  Brunswick.  "  This 
family,"  said  he  at  Council,  we  suppose  after  his  daily 
half-gallon  of  Burgundy,  "always  has  quarrelled,  and 
always  will  quarrel,  from  generation  to  generation." 
He  should  have  known  something  of  the  matter ;  for 
lie  had  been  a  favourite  with  three  successive  genera- 
tions of  the  royal  house.  We  cannot  quite  admit  his 
explanation  ;  but  the  fact  is  indisputable.  Since  the 
accession  of  George  the  First,  there  have  been  four 
Princes  of  Wales,  and  they  have  all  been  almost  con- 
stantly in  Opposition. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  motives  which  in- 
duced Prince  Frederic  to  join  the  party  opposed  to  the 
government,  his  support  infused  into  many  members 
of  that  party  a  courage  and  an  energy  of  which  they 
stood  greatly  in  need.  Hitherto  it  had  been  impossible 
for  the  discontented  Whigs  not  to  feel  some  misgivings 
when  they  found  themselves  dividing,  night  after  night, 
with  uncompromising  Jacobites  who  were  known  to  be 
in  constant  communication  with  the  exiled  family,  or 
with  Tories  who  had  impeached  Somers,  who  had  mur- 
mured against  Harley  and  St.  John  as  too  remiss  in 
the  cause  of  the  Church  and  the  landed  interest,  and 
who,  if  they  were  not  inclined  to  attack  the  reigning 
family,  yet  considered  the  introduction  of  that  family 
as,  at  best,  only  the  less  of  two  great  evils,  as  a  neces- 
sary but  painful  and  humiliating  preservative  against 
Popery.  The  Minister  might  plausibly  say  that  Pul- 
teney  and  Carteret,  in  the  hope  of  gratifying  their  own 
appetite  for  office  and  for  revenge,  did  not  scruple  to 
serve  the  purposes  of  a  faction  hostile  to  the  Protestant 


EAEL  OF  CHATHAM.  209 

succession.  The  appearance  of  Frederic  at  the  head 
of  the  patriots  silenced  this  reproach.  The  leaders  of 
the  Opposition  might  now  boast  that  their  course  was 
sanctioned  by  a  person  as  deeply  interested  as  the  King 
himself  in  maintaining  the  Act  of  Settlement,  and  that, 
instead  of  serving  the  purposes  of  the  Tory  party,  they 
had  brought  that  party  over  to  the  side  of  Whiggism. 
It  must  indeed  be  admitted  that,  though  both  the  King 
and  the  Prince  behaved  in  a  manner  little  to  their  hon- 
our, though  the  father  acted  harshly,  the  son  disre- 
spectfully, and  both  childishly,  the  royal  family  was 
rather  strengthened  than  weakened  by  the  disagree- 
73ient  of  its  two  most  distinguished  members.  A  large 
class  of  politicians,  who  liad  considered  themselves  as 
placed  under  sentence  of  perpetual  exclusion  from  of- 
fice, and  who,  in  their  despair,  had  been  almost  ready 
to  join  in  a  counter-revolution  as  the  only  mode  of  re- 
moving the  proscription  under  which  they  lay,  now  saw 
with  pleasure  an  easier  and  safer  road  to  power  opening 
before  them,  and  thought  it  far  better  to  wait  till,  in 
the  natural  course  of  things,  the  Crown  should  descend 
to  the  heir  of  the  House  of  Brunswick,  than  to  risk 
their  lands  and  their  necks  in  a  rising  for  the  House  of 
Stuart.  The  situation  of  the  royal  family  resembled 
the  situation  of  those  Scotch  families  in  which  father 
and  son  took  opposite  sides  during  the  rebellion,  in  order 
that,  come  what  might,  the  estate  might  not  be  for- 
feited. 

In  April,  1736,  Frederic  was  married  to  the  Prin- 
cess of  Saxe  Gotha,  with  whom  he  afterwards  lived  on 
terms  very  similar  to  those  on  which  his  father  had 
lived  with  Queen  Caroline.  The  Prince  adored  his 
wife,  and  thought  her  in  mind  and  person  the  most 
attractive  of  her  sex.  But  he  thought  that  conjugal 


210  WILLIAM  PITT, 

fidelity  was  an  unprincely  vhtue  ;  and,  in  orier  to  be 
like  Henry  the  Fourth,  and  the  Regent  Orleans,  he 
affected  a  libertinism  for  which  he  had  no  taste,  and 
frequently  quitted  the  only  woman  whom  he  loved  for 
ugly  and  disagreeable  mistresses. 

The  address  which  the  House  of  Commons  pre- 
sented to  the  King  on  the  occasion  of  the  Prince's 
marriage  was  moved,  not  by  the  Minister,  but  by  Pul- 
teney,  the  leader  of  the  Whigs  in  Opposition.  It  waa 
on  this  motion  that  Pitt,  who  had  not  broken  silence 
during  the  session  in  which  he  took  his  seat,  addressee 
the  House  for  the  first  time.  "  A  contemporary  his 
torian,"  says  Mr.  Thackeray,  "  describes  Mr.  Pitt' 
first  speech  as  superior  even  to  the  models  of  ancient 
eloquence.  According  to  Tindal,  it  was  more  orna- 
mented than  the  speeches  of  Demosthenes,  and  less 
diffuse  than  those  of  Cicero."  This  unmeaning  phrase 
has  been  a  hundred  times  quoted.  That  it  should 
ever  have  been  quoted,  except  to  be  laughed  at,  is 
strange.  The  vogue  which  it  has  obtained  may  serve 
to  show  in  how  slovenly  a  way  most  people  are  content 
to  think.  Did  Tindal,  who  first  used  it,  or  Archdea- 
con Coxe  and  Mr.  Thackeray,  who  have  borrowed  it, 
ever  in  their  lives  hear  any  speaking  which  did  not 
deserve  the  same  compliment  ?  Did  they  ever  hear 
upeaking  less  ornamented  than  that  of  Demosthenes, 
or  more  diffuse  than  that  of  Cicero  ?  We  know  no 
living  orator,  from  Lord  Brougham  down  to  Mr. 
Hunt,  who  is  not  entitled  to  the  same  eulcgy.  ]t 
would  be  no  very  nattering  compliment  to  a  man's 
figure  to  sav,  that  he  was  taller  than  the  Polish 

«.    • 

Count,  and  shorter  than  Giant  O'Brien,  fatter  than 
the  Anatomic  Vivante,  and  more  slender  than  Daniel 
Lambert. 


EAEL  OF  CHATHAM.  211 

Pitt's  speech,  as  it  is  reported  in  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  certainly  deserves  Tindal's  compliment, 
and  deserves  no  other.  It  is  just  as  empty  and  wordy 
ns  a  maiden  speech  on  such  an  occasion  might  be  ex- 
pected to  be.  But  the  fluency  and  the  personal  ad- 
vantages of  the  young  orator  instantly  caught  the  ear 
and  eye  of  his  audience.  He  was,  from  the  day  of  his 
first  appearance,  always  heard  with  attention ;  and 
exercise  soon  developed  the  great  poAvers  which  he 
possessed. 

In  our  time,  the  audience  of  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment is  the  nation.  The  three  or  four  hundred  per- 
sons who  may  be  present  w'hile  a  speech  is  delivered 
may  be  pleased  or  disgusted  by  the  voice  and  action  of 
the  orator  ;  but,  in  the  reports  which  are  read  the  next 
day  by  hundreds  of  thousands,  the  difference  between 
the  noblest  and  the  meanest  figure,  between  the  rich- 
est and  the  shrillest  tones,  between  the  most  graceful 
and  the  most  uncouth  gesture,  altogether  vanishes.  A 
hundred  years  ago,  scarcely  any  report  of  what  passed 
within  the  walls  of  the  House  of  Commons  was  suf- 
fered to  get  abroad.  In  those  times,  therefore,  the 
impression  which  a  speaker  might  make  on  the  persons 
who  actually  heard  him  was  every  thing.  His  fame 
out  of  doors  depended  entirely  on  the  report  of  those 
who  were  within  the  doors.  In  the  Parliaments  of 
that  time,  therefore,  as  in  the  ancient  commonwealths, 
those  qualifications  which  enhance  the  immediate 
elFect  of  a  speech,  were  far  more  important  ingredients 
in.  the  composition  of  an  orator  than  at  present.  All 
those  qualifications  Pitt  possessed  in  the  highest  de- 
gree. On  the  stage,  he  would  have  been  the  finest 
Brutus  or  Coriolanus  ever  seen.  Those  who  saw  him 
•n  his  decay,  when  his  health  was  broken,  when  hi? 


212  WILLIAM  PITT, 

mind  was  untuned,  when  he  had  been  removed  from 
that  stormy  assembly  of  which  he  thoroughly  knew 
the  temper,  and  over  which  he  possessed  unbounded 
influence,  to  a  small,  a  torpid,  and  an  unfriendly  audi- 
ence, say  that  his  speaking  was  then,  for  the  most  part, 
a  low,  monotonous  muttering,  audible  only  to  those  who 

O '  * 

sat  close  to  him,  that  when  violently  excited,  he  some- 
times raised  his  voice  for  a  few  minutes,  but  that  it 
soon  sank  again  into  an  unintelligible  murmur.  Such 
was  the  Earl  of  Chatham  ;  but  such  was  not  William 
Pitt.  His  figure,  when  he  first  appeared  in  Parlia- 
ment, was  strikingly  graceful  and  commanding,  his 
features  high  and  noble,  his  eye  full  of  fire.  His  voice, 
even  when  it  sank  to  a  whisper,  was  heard  to  the  re- 
motest benches ;  and  when  he  strained  it  to  its  full 
extent,  the  sound  rose  like  the  swell  of  the  onran  of  a 

7  O 

great  cathedral,  shook  the  house  with  its  peal,  and  was 
heard  through  lobbies  and  down  staircases,  to  the 
Court  of  Requests  and  the  precincts  of  Westminster 
Hall.  He  cultivated  all  these  eminent  advantages 
with  the  most  assiduous  care.  His  action  is  described 
by  a  very  malignant  observer  as  equal  to  that  of  Gar- 
rick.  His  play  of  countenance  was  wonderful :  he 
frequently  disconcerted  a  hostile  orator  by  a  single 
glance  of  indignation  or  scorn.  Every  tone,  from  the 
impassioned  cry  to  the  thrilling  aside,  was  perfectly  at 
nis  command.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  the 
pains  which  he  took  to  improve  his  great  personal  ad- 
vantages had,  in  some  respects,  a  prejudicial  operation, 
tnd  tended  to  nourish  in  him  that  passion  for  theatri- 
cal effect  which,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  was 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  blemishes  in  his  character. 
But  it  was  not  solely  or  principally  to  outward 
accomplishments  that  Pitt  owed  the  vast  influence 


EAEL  OF  CHATHAM.  213 

which,  during  nearly  thirty  years,  he  exercised  ovei 
the  House  of  Commons.  He  was  undoubtedly  a  great 
orator ;  and,  from  the  descriptions  given  by  his  con- 
temporaries, and  the  fragments  of  his  speeches  which 
Btill  remain,  it  is  not  difficult  to  discover  the  nature 
and  extent  of  his  oratorical  powers. 

He  was  no  speaker  of  set  speeches.  His  few  pre- 
pared discourses  were  complete  failures.  The  elaborate 
panegyric  which  he  pronounced  on  General  Wolfe  was 
considered  as  the  very  worst  of  all  his  performances. 
"  No  man,"  says  a  critic  who  had  often  heard  him, 
"  ever  knew  so  little  what  he  was  going  to  say."  In- 
deed his  facility  amounted  to  a  vice.  He  was  not  the 
master,  but  the  slave  of  his  own  speech.  So  little  self- 
command  had  he  when  once  he  felt  the  impulse,  that 
he  did  not  like  to  take  part  in  a  debate  when  his  mind 
was  full,  of  an  important  secret  of  state.  "  I  must  sit 
still,"  he  once  said  to  Lord  Shelburne  on  such  an  occa- 
sion ;  "  for,  when  once  I  am  up,  every  thing  that  is  in 
my  mind  comes  out." 

Yet  he  was  not  a  great  debater.  That  he  should 
not  have  been  so  when  first  he  entered  the  House  of 
Commons  is  not  strange.  Scarcely  any  person  has 
ever  become  so  without  long  practice  and  many  fail- 
ures. It  was  by  slow  degrees,  as  Burke  said,  that 
Charles  Fox  became  the  most' brilliant  and  powerful 
debater  that  ever  lived.  Charles  Fox  himself  attrib- 
uted his  own  success  to  the  resolution  which  he  fonncd 
when  very  young,  of  speaking,  well  or  ill,  at  least  once 
fvery  night.  "  During  five  whole  sessions,"  he  used 
to  say,  "  I  spoke  every  night  but  one ;  and  I  regret 
only  that  I  did  not  speak  on  that  night  too."  Indeed, 
with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Stanley,  whose  knowledge 
of  the  science  of  parliamentary  defence  resembles  a* 


214  WILLIAM  TITT, 

nstinct,  it  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  eminent 
debater  who  had  not  made  himself  a  master  of  liis  art 
at  the  expense  of  his  audience. 

But,  as  this  art  is  one  which  even  the  ablest  men 
have  seldom  acquired  without  long  practice,  so  it  is 
one  which  men  of  respectable  abilities,  with  assiduous 
and  intrepid  practice,  seldom  fail  to  acquire.  It  is 
singular  that,  in  such  an  art,  Pitt,  a  man  of  great 
parts,  of  great  fluency,  of  great  boldness,  a  man  whose 
whole  life  was  passed  in  parlimentary  conflict,  a  man 
who,  during  several  years  was  the  leading  minister  of 
the  Crown  in  the  House  of  Commons,  should  never 
have  attained  to  high  excellence.  He  spoke  without 
premeditation  ;  but  his  speech  followed  the  course  of 
his  own  thoughts,  and  not  the  course  of  the  previous 
discussion.  He  could,  indeed,  treasure  up  in  his  mem- 
ory some  detached  expression  of  an  opponent,  and 
make  it  the  text  for  lively  ridicule  or  solemn  reprehen 
si  on.  Some  of  the  most  celebrated  bursts  of  his  elo- 
quence were  called  forth  by  an  unguarded  word,  a 
laugh,  or  a  cheer.  But  this  was  the  only  sort  of  reply 
in  which  he  appears  to  have  excelled.  He  was  perhaps 
the  only  great  English  orator  who  did  not  think  it  any 
advantage  to  have  the  last  word,  and  who  generally 
spoke  by  choice  before  his  most  formidable  antagonists. 
His  merit  was  almost  entirely  rhetorical.  He  did  not 
succeed  either  in  exposition  or  in  refutation ;  but 
his  speeches  abounded  in  lively  illustrations,  striking 
apophthegms,  well  told  anecdotes,  happy  allusions, 
;tassionate  appeals.  His  invective  and  sarcasm  were 
terrific.  Perhaps  no  English  orator  was  ever  so  much 
feared. 

But  that  which  gave  most  effect  to  his  declamation 
ffas  the  air  of  sincerity,  of  vehement  feeling,  of  morar 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  215 

slevation,  which  belonged  to  all  that  he  said.  His 
Btyle  was  not  always  in  the  purest  taste.  Several  con- 
temporary judges  pronounced  it  too  florid.  Walpole, 
in  the  midst  of  the  rapturous  eulogy  which  he  pro- 
nounces on  one  of  Pitt's  greatest  orations,  owns  that 
some  of  the  metaphors  were  too  forced.  Some  of 
Pitt's  quotations  and  classical  stories  are  too  trite  for 
a  clever  schoolboy.  But  these  were  niceties  for  which 
the  audience  cared  little.  The  enthusiasm  of  the 
orator  infected  all  who  heard  him  ;  his  ardour  and  his 
noble  bearing  put  fire  into  the  most  frigid  conceit,  and 
gave  dignity  to  the  most  puerile  allusion. 

His  powers  soon  began  to  give  annoyance  to  the 
Government ;  and  Walpole  determined  to  make  an 
example  of  the  patriotic  cornet.  Pitt  was  accordingly 
dismissed  from  the  service.  Mr.  Thackeray  says  that 
the  Minister  took  this  step,  because  he  plainly  saw  that 
it  would  have  been  vain  to  think  of  buying  over  so 
honourable  and  disinterested  an  opponent.  We  do  not 
dispute  Pitt's  integrity  ;  but  we  do  not  know  what 
proof  he  had  given  of  it  when  he  was  turned  out  of  the 
army ;  and  we  are  sure  that-  Walpole  was  not  likely 
to  give  credit  for  inflexible  honesty  to  a  young  adven- 
turer, who  had  never  had  an  opportunity  of  refusing 
any  thing.  The  truth  is,  that  it  was  not  Walpole's 
practice  to  buy  off  enemies.  Mr.  Burke  truly  says,  in 
the  Appeal  to  the  Old  Whigs,  that  Walpole  gained 
very  few  over  from  the  Opposition.  Indeed  that  great 
minister  knew  his  business  far  too  well.  He  knew 
that,  for  one  mouth  which  is  stopped  with  a  place, 
fifty  other  mouths  will  be  instantly  opened.  He  knew 
U:at  it  would  have  been  very  bad  policy  in  him  to  give 
4he  world  to  understand  that  more  was  to  be  got  by 
thwarting  his  measures  than  by  supporting  them, 


213  WILLIAM  PITT, 

These  maxims  are  as  old  as  the  origin  of  parliamentary 
corruption  in  England.  Pepys  learned  them,  as  he 
tells  us,  from  the  counsellors  of  Charles  the  Seccnd. 

Pitt  was  no  loser.  He  was  made  Groom  of  the 
Bedchamber  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  continued  to 
declaim  against  the  ministers  with  unabated  violence 
and  with  increasing  ability.  The  question  of  maritime 
right,  then  agitated  between  Spain  and  England,  called 
Forth  all  his  powers.  He  clamoured  for  war  with  a 
vehemence  which  it  is  not  easy  to  reconcile  with  reason 
or  humanity,  but  which  appears  to  .Mr.  Thackeray 
worthy  of  the  highest  admiration.  We  will  not  stop 
to  argue  a  point  on  which  we  had  long  thought  that 
,all  well-informed  people  were  agreed.  We  could  easily 
show,  we  think,  that  if  any  respect  be  due  to  inter- 
national law,  if  right,  where  societies  of  men  are  con- 
cerned, be  any  thing  but  another  name  for  might,  if  we 
do  not  adopt  the  doctrine  of  the  Buccaniers,  which 
seems  to  be  also  the  doctrine  of  Mr.  Thackeray,  that 
treaties  mean  nothing  within  thirty  degrees  of  the  line, 
the  war  with  Spain  was  altogether  unjustifiable.  But 
the  truth  is,  that  the  promoters  of  that  war  have  saved 
the  historian  the  trouble  of  trying  them.  They  havo 
pleaded  guilty.  "  I  have  seen,"  says  Burke,  "  and 
with  some  care  examined,  the  original  documents  con- 
cerning certain  important  transactions  of  those  times. 
They  perfectly  satisfied  me  of  the  extreme  injustice  of 
that  war,  and  of  the  falsehood  of  the  colom's  which 
Walpole,  to  his  ruin,  and  guided  by  a  mistaken  policy, 
suffered  to  be  daubed  over  that  measure.  Some  years 
after,  it  was  my  fortune  to  converse  with  many  of  the 
Drincipal  actors  against  that  minister,  and  with  those 
«vho  principally  excited  that  clamour.  None  of  them 
DO  not  one,  did  in  the  least  defend  the  measure,  or 


EAEL   OF  CHATIIAM.  217 

attempt  to  justify  their  conduct.  They  condemned  it 
as  freely  as  they  would  have  done  in  commenting  upon 
any  proceeding  in  history  in  which  they  Avere  totally 
unconcerned."  Pitt,  on  subsequent  occasions,  gave 
ample  proof  that  he  was  one  of  these  penitents.  But 
his  conduct,  even  where  it  appeared  most  criminal  to 
himself,  appears  admirable  to  his  biographer. 

The  elections  of  1741  were  unfavourable  to  Wai- 
pole  ;  and  after  a  long  and  obstinate  struggle  he 
found  it  necessary  to  resign.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle 
and  Lord  Hardwicke  opened  a  negotiation  with  the 
leading  patriots,  in  the  hope  of  forming  an  adminis- 
tration on  a  Whig  basis.  At  this  conjuncture,  Pitt 
and  those  persons  who  were  most  nearly  connected 
with  him  acted  in  a  manner  very  little  to  their  hon- 
our. They  attempted  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  Walpole,  and  offered,  if  he  would  use  his  influ- 
ence with  the  King  in  their  favour,  to  screen  him 
from  prosecution.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to  en- 
gage for  the  concurrence  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
But  Walpole  knew  that  the  assistance  of  the  Boys,  as 
he  called  the  young  Patriots,  would  avail  him  nothing 
if  Pulteney  and  Carteret  should  prove,  intractable, 
and  would  be  superfluous  if  the  great  leaders  of  the 
Opposition  could  be  gained.  He,  therefore,  declined 
the  proposal.  It  is  remarkable  that  Mr.  Thackeray, 
who  has  thought  it  worth  while  to  preserve  Pitt's 
bad  college  verses,  has  not  even  alluded  to  this  story, 
i  story  which  is  supported  by  strong  testimony,  and 
which  may  be  found  in  so  common  a  book  as  Coxe's 
Life  of  Walpole. 

The  new  arrangements  disappointed  almost  every 
vnember  of  the  Opposition,  and  none  more  than  Pitt. 
He  was  not  invited  to  become  a  placeman ;  and  he 

vou  m.  10 


218  WILLIAM  PITT, 

therefore  stuck  firmly  to  his  old  trade  of  patriot. 
Fortunate  it  was  for  him  that  he  did  so.  Had  he 
taken  office  at  this  time,  he  would  in  all  probability 
have  shared  largely  in  the  unpopularity  of  Pulteney, 
Sandys,  and  Carteret.  He  was  now  the  fiercest  and 
most  implacable  of  those  who  called  for  vengeance  en 
Walpole.  He  spoke  with  great  energy  and  ability  in 
favour  of  the  most  unjust  and  violent  propositions 
which  the  enemies  of  the  fallen  minister  could  invent. 
He  urged  the  House  of  Commons  to  appoint  a  secret 
tribunal  for  the  purpose  of  investigating  the  conduct 
of  the  late  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  This  was 
done.  The  great  majority  of  the  inquisitors  were 
notoriously  hostile  to  the  accused  statesman.  Yet 
they  were  compelled  to  own  that  they  could  find  no 
fault  in  him.  They  therefore  called  for  new  powers, 
for  a  bill  of  indemnity  to  witnesses,  or,  in  plain  words, 
for  a  bill  to  reward  all  wlw>  might  give  evidence,  true 
or  false,  against  the  Earl  of  Orford.  This  bill  Pitt 
supported,  Pitt,  who  had  himself  offered  to  be  a  screen 
between  Lord  Orford  and  public  justice.  These  are 
melancholy  facts.  Mr.  Thackeray  omits  them,  or 
hurries  over  them  as  fast  as  he  can  ;  and,  as  eulogy  is 
his  business,  he  is  in  the  right  to  do  so.  But,  though 
there  are  many  parts  of  the  life  of  Pitt  which  it  is 
more  agreeable  to  contemplate,  we  know  none  more 
instructive.  What  must  have  been  the  general  state 
of  political  morality,  when  a  young  man,  considered, 
and  justly  considered,  as  the  most  public-spirited  and 
spotless  statesman  of  his  time,  could  attempt  to  force 
his  way  into  office  by  means  so  disgraceful ! 

The  Bill  of  Indemnity  was  rejected  by  the  Loids, 
Walpole  withdrew  himself  quietly  from  the  public  eye  • 
Mid  the  ample  space  which  he  had  left  vacant  was  soon 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM  219 

occupied  by  Carteret.  Against  Carteret  Pitt  began  to 
thunder  with  as  much  zeal  as  he  had  ever  manifested 
against  Sir  Robert.  To  Carteret  he  transferred  most 
of  the  hard  names  which  were  familiar  to  his  elo- 
quence, sole  minister,  wicked  minister,  odious  minis- 
ter, execrable  minister.  The  chief  topic  of  Pitt's  in- 
vective was  the  favour  shown  to  the  German  dominions 
of  the  House  of  Brunswick.  He  attacked  with  great 
violence,  and  with  an  ability  which  raised  him  to  the 
very  first  rank  among  the  parliamentary  speakers,  the 
practice  of  paying  Hanoverian  troops  with  English 
money.  The  House  of  Commons  had  lately  lost  some 
of  its  most  distinguished  ornaments.  Walpole  and 
Pulteney  had  accepted  peerages ;  Sir  William  Wynd- 
hain  was  dead  ;  and  among  the  rising  men  none  could 
be  considered  as,  on  the  whole,  a  match  for  Pitt. 

During  the  recess  of  1744,  the  old  Duchess  of  Marl- 

O  * 

borough  died.  She  carried  to  her  grave  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  decidedly  the  best  hater  of  her  time. 
Yet  her  love  had  been  infinitely  more  destructive  than 
her  hatred.  More  than  thirty  years  before,  her  tem- 
per had  ruined  the  party  to  which  she  belonged  and 
the  husband  whom  she  adored.  Time  had  made  her 
neither  wiser  nor  kinder.  Whoever  was  at  any  mo- 
ment great  and  prosperous  was  the  object  of  her 
fiercest  detestation.  She  had  hated  Walpole  ;  she 
now  hated  Carteret.  Pope,  long  before  her  death, 
predicted  the  fate  of  her  vast  property. 

"  To  heirs  unknown  descends  the  unguarded  store, 
Or  wanders,  heaven-directed,  to  the  poor." 

Pitt  was  then  one  of  the  poor  ;  and  to  him  Heaven 
Jirected  a  portion  of  the  wealth  of  the  haughty  Dow- 
ager. She  left  him  a  legacy  of  ten  thousand  pounds, 
n  consideration  of  "  the  noble  defence  he  had  made 


220  WILLIAM  PITT, 

for  the  support  of  the  laws  of  England,  and  to  prevent 
the  ruin  of  his  country." 

The  will  was  made  in  August.  The  Duchess  died 
in  October.  In  November  Pitt  was  a  courtier.  The 
Pelhams  had  forced  the  King,  much  against  his  will, 
to  part  with  Lord  Carteret,  who  had  now  become  Earl 
Granville.  They  proceeded,  after  this  victory,  to  form 
the  Government  on  that  basis,  called  by  the  cant  name 
of  "  the  broad  bottom."  Lyttelton  had  a  seat  at  the 
Treasury,  and  several  other  friends  of  Pitt  were  pro- 
vided for.  But  Pitt  himself  was,  for  the  present, 
forced  to  be  content  with  promises.  The  King  re- 
sented most  highly  some  expression  which  the  ardent 
orator  had  used  in  the  debate  on  the  Hanoverian 
troops.  But  Newcastle  and  Pelham  expressed  the 
strongest  confidence  that  time  and  their  exertions 
would  soften  the  royal  displeasure. 

Pitt,  on  his  part,  omitted  nothing  that  might  facili- 
tate his  admission  to  office.  He  resigned  his  place  in 
the  household  of  Prince  Frederic,  and,  when  Parlia- 
ment met,  exerted  his  eloquence  in  support  of  the  Gov- 
ernment. The  Pelhams  were  really  sincere  in  their 
endeavours  to  remove  the  strong  prejudices  which  had 
taken  root  in  the  King's  mind.  They  knew  that  Pitt 
was  not  a  man  to  be  deceived  with  ease  or  offended 
with  impunity.  They  were  afraid  that  they  should 
not  be  long  able  to  put  him  off"  with  promises.  Noi 
•was  it  their  interest  so  to  put  him  off'.  There  was  a 
strong  tie  between  him  and  them.  He  was  the  enemy 
of  their  enemy.  The  brothers  hated  and  dreaded  the 
eloquent,  aspiring,  and  imperious  Granville.  They 
had  traced  his  intrigues  in  many  quarters.  .  They 
knew  his  influence  over  the  royal  mind.  They  knew 
that,  as  soon  as  a  favourable  opportunity  should  arrive,. 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  2£] 

f\e  would  be  recalled  to  the  head  of  affairs.  They 
resolved  to  bring  things  to  a  crisis ;  and  the  question 
on  which  they  took  issue  with  their  master  was, 
whether  Pitt  should  or  should  not  be  admitted  tc 
office.  They  chose  their  time  with  more  skill  than 
generosity.  It  was  when  rebellion  was  actually  rag- 
ing in  Britain,  when  the  Pretender  was  master  of  the 
northern  extremity  of  the  island,  that  they  tendered 
their  resignations.  The  King  found  himself  deserted, 
in  one  day,  by  the  whole  strength  of  that  party  which 
had  placed  his  family  on  the  throne.  Lord  Granville 
tried  to  form  a  government ;  but  it  soon  appeared  that 
the  parliamentary  interest  of  the  Pelhams  was  irre- 
sistible, and  that  the  King's  favourite  statesman  could 
count  only  on  about  thirty  Lords  and  eighty  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  scheme  was  given 

O 

up.  Granville  Avent  away  laughing.  The  ministers 
came  back  stronger  than  ever  ;  and  the  King  was  now 
no  longer  able  to  refuse  any  thing  that  they  might 
be  pleased  to  demand.  He  could  only  mutter  that  it 
,vas  very  hard  that  Newcastle,  who  was  not  fit  to  be 
chamberlain  to  the  most  insignificant  prince  in  Ger- 
many, should  dictate  to  the  King  of  England. 

One  concession  the  ministers  graciously  made.  They 
agreed  that  Pitt  should  not  be  placed  in  a  situation  in 
which  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  have  frequent 
interviews  with  the  King.  Instead,  therefore,  of  mak- 
ing their  new  ally  Secretary-at-War  as  they  had  in- 
tended, they  appointed  him  Vice-Treasurer  of  Ireland, 
und  in  a  few  months  promoted  him  to  the  office  of  Pay- 
Haster  of  the  Forces. 

This  was,  at  that  time,  one  of  the  most  lucrative;  of- 
Sces  in  the  Government.  The  salary  was  but  a  small 
fart  of  the  emolument  which  the  Paymaster  derived 


222  WILLIAM  PITT, 

from  liis  place.  He  was  allowed  to  keep  a  large  sum, 
which,  even  in  time  of  peace,  was  seldom  less  than  one 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  constantly  in  his  hands  ; 
and  the  interest  on  this  sum  he  might  appropriate  tn 
his  own  use.  This  practice  was  not  secret,  nor  was  it 
considered  as  disreputable.  It  was  the  practice  of  men 
of  undoubted  honour,  both  before  and  after  the  time  of 
Pitt.  He,  however,  refused  to  accept  one  farthing  be- 
yond the  salary  which  the  law  had  annexed  to  his  office. 
It  had  been  usual  for  foreign  princes  who  received  the 
pay  of  England  to  give  to  the  Paymaster  of  the  Forces 
a  small  per  centage  on  the  subsidies.  These  ignomini- 
ous vails  Pitt  resolutely  declined. 

Disinterestedness  of  this  kind  was,  in  his  days,  very 
rare.  His  conduct  surprised  and  amused  politicians. 
It  excited  the  warmest  admiration  throughout  the  body 
of  the  people.  In  spite  of  the  inconsistencies  of  which 
Pitt  had  been  guilty,  in  spite  of  the  strange  contrast 
between  his  violence  in  Opposition  and  his  tameness  in 
office,  he  still  possessed  a  large  share  of  the  public  con- 
fidence. The  motives  which  may  lead  a  politician  to 
change  his  connections  or  his  general  line  of  conduct 
are  often  obscure  ;  but  disinterestedness  in  pecuniary 
matters  everybody  can  understand.  Pitt  was  thence- 
forth considered  as  a  man  who  was  proof  to  all  sordid 
temptations.  If  he  acted  ill,  it  might  be  from  an  error 
in  judgment ;  it  might  be  from  resentment ;  it  might 
be  from  ambition.  But  poor  as  he  was,  he  had  vindi- 
tated  himself  from  all  suspicion  of  covetousness. 

Eight  quiet  years  followed,  eight  years  during  which 
the  minority,  which  had  been  feeble  ever  since  Lord 
Granville  had  been  overthrown,  continued  to  dwindle 
till  it  became  almost  invisible.  Peace  was  made  with 
France  and  Spain  in  1748.  Prince  Frederic  died  in 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  228 

1751  ;  and  with  him  died  the  very  semblance  of  oppo- 
sition. All  the  most  distinguished  survivors  of  the 
party  which  had  supported  Walpole  and  of  the  party 
which  had  opposed  him  were  united  under  his  succes- 
sor. The  fiery  and  vehement  spirit  of  Pitt  had  for  a 
time  been'laid  to  rest.  He  silently  acquiesced  in  that 
very  system  of  continental  measures  which  he  had 
lately  condemned.  He  ceased  to  talk  disrespectfully 
about  Hanover.  He  did  not  object  to  the  treaty  with 
Spain,  though  that  treaty  left  us  exactly  where  we  had 
been  when  he  uttered  his  spirit-stirring  harangues  against 
the  pacific  policy  of  Walpole.  Now  and  then  glimpses 
of  his  former  self  appeared ;  but  they  were  few  and 
transient.  Pelham  knew  with  whom  he  had  to  deal, 
and  felt  that  an  ally,  so  little  used  to  control,  and  so  ca- 
pable of  inflicting  injury,  might  well  be  indulged  in  an 
occasional  fit  of  waywardness.  ' 

Two  men,  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  Pitt  in  powers 
of  mind,  held,  like  him,  subordinate  offices  in  the  Gov- 
ernment. One  of  these,  Murray,  was  successively 
Solicitor-General  and  Attorney-General.  This  distin- 
guished person  far  surpassed  Pitt  in  correctness  of  taste, 
in  powei  of  reasoning,  in  depth  and  variety  of  knowl- 
edge. His  parliamentary  eloquence  never  blazed  into 
sudden  flashes  of  dazzling  brilliancy;  but  its  clear, 
placid,  and  mellow  splendour  was  never  for  an  instant 
overclouded.  Intellectually  he  was,  we  believe,  fully 
equal  to  Pitt ;  but  he  was  deficient  in  the  moral  quali- 
ties to  which  Pitt  owed  most  of  his  success.  Murray 
wanted  the  energy,  the  courage,  the  all-grasping  and 
ill-risking  ambition,  which  make  men  great  in  stirring 
'imes.  His  heart  was  a  little  cold,  his  temper  cautious 
ivca.  to  timidity,  his  manners  decorous  even  to  formal- 
ty.  He  never  exposed  his  fortunes  or  his  fame  to  any 


224  WILLIAM  PITT, 

risk  wliicli  he  could  avoid.  At  one  time  he  might,  in 
all  probability,  have  been  Prime  Minister.  But  the 
object  of  his  wishes  was  the  judicial  bench.  The  situa- 
tion of  Chief  Justice  might  not  be  so  splendid  as  that 
of  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury ;  but  it  was  dignified , 
it  was  quiet ;  it  was  secure ;  and  therefore  it  was  the 
favourite  situation  of  Murray. 

Fox,  'the  father  of  the  great  man  whose  mighty  ef- 
forts in  the  cause  of  peace,  of  truth,  and  of  liberty, 
have  made  that  name  immortal,  was  Secretary-at-War. 
He  was  a  favourite  with  the  King,  with  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  and  with  some  of  the  most  powerful  mem- 
bers of  the  great  Whig  connection.  His  parliamentary 
talents  were  of  the  highest  order.  As  a  speaker  he 
was  in  almost  all  respects  the  very  opposite  to  Pitt. 
His  figure  was  ungracerul ;  his  face,  as  Reynolds  and 
Nollekens  have  preserved  it  to  us,  indicated  a  strong 
understanding ;  but  the  features  were  coarse,  and  the 
general  aspect  dark  and  lowering.  His  manner  was 
awkward ;  his  delivery  was  hesitating ;  he  was  often  at 
a  stand  for  want  of  a  word ;  but  as  a  debater,  as  a 
master  of  that  keen,  weighty,  manly  logic,  which  is 
suited  to  the  discussion  of  political  questions,  he  has 
perhaps  never  been  surpassed  except  by  his  son.  In 
reply  he  was  as  decidedly  superior  to  Pitt  as  in  decla- 
mation he  was  Pitt's  inferior.  Intellectually  the  bal- 
ance was  nearly  even  between  the  rivals.  But  here, 
again,  the  moral  qualities  of  Pitt  turned  the  scale.  Fox 
had  undoubtedly  many  virtues.  In  natural  disposition 
as  well  as  in  talents,  he  bore  a  great  resemblance  to  his 
more  celebrated  son.  He  had  the  same  sweetness  of 
temper,  the  same  strong  passions,  the  same  openness, 
coldness,  and  impetuosity,  the  same  cordiality  towards 
friends,  the  same  placability  towards  enemies.  No  man 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  22£ 

was  more  warmly  or  justly  beloved  bv  his  family  or  by 
his  associates.  JBut  unhappily  lie  had  been  trained  in  a 
bad  political  school,  in  a  school,  the  doctrines  of  which 
were,  that  political  virtue  is  the  mere  coquetry  of  po- 
litical prostitution,  that  every  patriot  has  his  price,  that 
Government  can  be  carried  on  only  by  means  of 
corruption,  and  that  the  state  is  given  as  a  prey  to 
statesmen.  These  maxims  were  too  much  in  vogue 
throughout  the  lower  ranks  of  Walpole's  party,  and 
were  too  much  encouraged  by  Walpole  himself,  who, 
from  contempt  of  what  is  in  our  day  vulgarly  called 
humbug,  often  ran  extravagantly  and  offensively  into 
the  opposite  extreme.  The  loose  political  morality  of 
Fox  presented  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  ostentatious 
purity  of  Pitt.  The  nation  distrusted  the  former,  and 
placed  implicit  confidence  in  the  latter.  But  almost  all 
the  statesmen  of  the  age  had  still  to  learn  that  the  con- 
fidence of  the  nation  was  worth  having.  While  things 
went  on  quietly,  while  there  was  no  opposition,  while 
every  thing  was  given  by  the  favour  of  a  small  ruling 
junto,  Fox  had  a  decided  advantage  over  Pitt ;  but 
when  dangerous  times  came,  when  Europe  was  con- 
vulsed with  war,  when  Parliament  was  broken  up  into 
factions,  when  the  public  mind  was  violently  excited, 
the  favourite  of  the  people  rose  to  supreme  power,  whilo 
his  rival  sank  into  insignificance. 

Early  in  the  year  1754  Henry  Pelham  died  unexpect- 
edly. "  Now  I  shall  have  no  more  peace,"  exclaimed 
the  old  King,  when  he  heard  the  news.  He  was  in 
the  rio-ht.  Pelham  had  succeeded  in  bringrag  together 

O  fj        O  O 

and  keeping  together  all  the  talents  of  the  kingdom. 
By  his  death,  the  highest  post  to*  which  an  English 
subject  can  aspire  was  left  vacant ;  and  at  the  same 
\»oment,  the  influence  which,  had  yoked  together  anj 


229  WILLIAM  PITT, 

reigned  in  so  many  turbulent  and  ambitious  spirits  wafl 
withdrawn. 

Within  a  week  after  Pelham's  death,  it  was  deter- 
mined that  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  should  be  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  treasury  ;  but  the  arrangement  was 
still  far  from  complete.  Who  was  to  be  the  leading 
Minister  of  the  Crown  in  the  House  of  Commons? 
Was  the  office  to  be  intrusted  to  a  man  of  eminent 
talents  ?  And  would  not  such  a  man  in  such  a  place 
demand  and  obtain  a  larger  share  of  power  and  patron- 
age than  Newcastle  would  be  disposed  to  concede? 
Was  a  mere  drudge  to  be  employed  ?  And  what  prob- 
ability was  there  that  a  mere  drudge  would  be  able  to 
manage  a  large  and  stormy  assembly,  abounding  with 
able  and  experienced  men  ? 

Pope  has  said  of  that  wrretched  miser  Sir  John 
Cutler, 

"  Cutler  saw  tenants  break  and  houses  foil 
For  very  want :  he  could  not  build  a  wall." 

Newcastle's  love  of  power  resembled  Cutler's  love  of 
money.  It  was  an  avarice  which  thwarted  itself,  a 
penny-wise  and  pound-foolish  cupidity.  An  immedi- 
ate outlay  was  so  painful  to  him  that  he  would  not 
venture  to  make  the  most  desirable  improvement.  If 
he  could  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  cede  at  once  a 
portion  of  his  authority,  he  might  probably  have  en- 
sured the  continuance  of  what  remained.  But  ho 
thought  it  better  to  construct  a  weak  and  rotten  gov- 
ernment, which  tottered  at  the  smallest  breath,  and 
fell  in  the  first  storm,  than  to  pay  the  necessary  price 
for  sound  and  durable  matarials.  He  wished  to  find 
pome  person  who  would  be  willing  to  accept  the  lead 
of  the  House  of  Commons  on  terms  similar  to  those  on 
which  Secretary  Craggs  had  acted  under  Sunderland, 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  227 

five-and-tliirty  years  before.  Craggs  could  hardly  be 
called  a  minister.  He  was  a  mere  agent  for  the  Min- 
ister. He  was  not  trusted  with  the  higher  secrets  of 
state,  but  obeyed  implicitly  the  directions  of  his  supe- 
rior, and  was,  to  use  Doddington's  expression,  merely 
Lord  Sunderland's  man.  But  times  were  changed. 
Since  the  days  of  Sunderland,  the  importance  of  the 
House  of  Commons  had  been  constantly  on  the  in- 
crease. During  many  years,  the  person  who  con- 
ducted the  business  of  the  Government  in  that  House 
had  almost  always  been  Prime  Minister.  In  these  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  person 
who  possessed  the  talents  necessary  for  the  situation 
would  stoop  to  accept  it  on  such  terms  as  Newcastle 
was  disposed  to  offer. 

Pitt  was  ill  at  Bath  ;  and,  had  he  been  well  and  in 
London,  neither  the  King  nor  Newcastle  would  have 
been  disposed  to  make  any  overtures  to  him.  The 
cool  and  wary  Murray  had  set  his  heart  on  professional 
objects.  Negotiations  were  opened  with  Fox.  New- 
castle behaved  like  himself,  that  is  to  say,  childishly 
and  basely.  The  proposition  which  he  made  was  that 
Fox  should  be  Secretary  of  State,  with  the  lead  of  the 
House  of  Commons ;  that  the  disposal  of  the  secret- 
service  money,  or,  in  plain  words,  the  business  of  buy- 
ing members  of  Parliament,  should  be  left  to  the  First 
Lord  of  the  Treasury ;  but  that  Fox  should  be  exactly 
informed  of  the  way  in  which  this  fund  was  employed. 

To  these  conditions  Fox  assented.  But  the  next 
day  every  thing  was  in  confusion.  Newcastle  had 
changed  his  mind.  The  conversation  which  took  place 
between  Fox  and  the  Duke  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
2i  English  history.  "  My  brother,"  said  Newcastle, 
"  when  he  was  at  the  Treasury,  never  told  anybody 


228  WILLIAM  PITT, 

what  he  did  with  the  secret-service  money.  No  mor« 
will  I."  The  answer  was  obvious.  Pelham  had  been, 
not  only  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  but  also  manager 
of  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  it  was  therefore  un- 
necessary for  him  to  confide  to  any  other  person  his 
dealings  with  the  members  of  that  House.  "  But 
how,"  said  Fox,  "  can  I  lead  in  the  Commons  without 
information  on  this  head  ?  How  can  I  talk  to  gentle- 
men when  I  do  not  know  which  of  them  have  received 
gratifications  and  which  have  not?  And  who,"  he 
continued,  "  is  to  have  the  disposal  of  places  ?  "  —  "I 
myself,"  said  the  Duke.  —  "  How  then  am  I  to  manage 
the  House  of  Commons?"  —  "Oh,  let  the  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons  come  to  me."  Fox  then 
mentioned  the  general  election  which  was  approaching, 
and  asked  how  the  ministerial  boroughs  were  to  be 
filled  up.  "  Do  not  trouble  yourself,"  said  Newcastle  ; 
"  that  is  all  settled."  This  was  too  much  for  human 
nature  to  bear.  Fox  refused  to  accept  the  Secretary- 
ship of  State  on  such  terms  ;  and  the  Duke  confided 
the  management  of  the  House  of  Commons  to  a  dull, 
harmless  man,  whose  name  is  almost  forgotten  in  our 
time,  Sir  Thomas  Robinson. 

When  Pitt  returned  from  Bath  he  affected  great  mod- 
eration, though  his  haughty  soul  was  boiling  with 
resentment.  He  did  not  complain  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  been  passed  by,  but  said  openly  that,  in 
his  opinion,  Fox  was  the  fittest  man  to  lead  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  rivals,  reconciled  by  their  common 
interest  and  their  common  enmities,  concerted  a  plan 
of  operations  for  the  next  session.  "  Sir  Thomas  Rob- 
inson lead  us  ! "  said  Pitt  to  Fox.  "  The  Duke  might 
as  well  send  his  jack-boot  to  lead  us." 

The  elections  of  1754  were  favourable  to  the  adroi»- 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  229 

istration.  But  the  aspect  of  foreign  affairs  was  threat- 
ening.  In  India  the  English  and  the  French  had  been 
employed,  ever  since  the  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  in 
cutting  each  other's  throats.  They  had  lately  taken  to 
the  same  practice  in  America.  It  might  have  been 
foreseen  that  stirring  times  were  at  hand,  times  which 
would  call  for  abilities  very  different  from  those  of 
Newcastle  and  Robinson. 

In  November  the  Parliament  met ;  and  before  the 
end  of  that  month  the  new  Secretary  of  State  had  been 
BO  unmercifully  baited  by  the  Paymaster  of  the  Forces 
and  the  Secretary  at  War  that  he  was  thoroughly  sick 
of  his  situation.  Fox  attacked  him  with  great  force 
and  acrimony.  Pitt  affected  a  kind  of  contemptuous 
tenderness  for  Sir  Thomas,  and  directed  his  attacks 
principally  against  Newcastle.  On  one  occasion  he 
asked  in  tones  of  thunder  whether  Parliament  sat  only 
to  register  the  edicts  of  one  too  powerful  subject? 
The  Duke  was  scared  out  of  his  wits.  He  was  afraid 
to  dismiss  the  mutineers  ;  he  was  afraid  to  promote 
them ;  but  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  do  something. 
Fox,  as  the  less  proud  and  intractable  of  the  refractory 
pair,  was  preferred.  A  seat  in  the  Cabinet  was  offered 
to  him  on  condition  that  he  would  give  efficient  sup- 
port to  the  ministry  in  Parliament.  In  an  evil  hour 
for  his  fame  and  his  fortunes  he  accepted  the  offer,  and 
abandoned  his  connection  with  Pitt,  who  never  forgave 
this  desertion. 

Sir  Thomas,  assisted  by  Fox,  contrived  to  get 
through  the  business  of  the  year  without  much  trouble. 
Pitt  was  waiting  his  time.  The  negotiations  pending 
between  France  and  England  took  every  day  a  more 
unfavourable  aspect.  Towards  the  close  of  the  session 
the  King  sent  a  message  to  inform  the  House  of  C  )m- 


230  WILLIAM  PITT, 

mons  that  lie  had  found  it  necessary  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  war.  The  House  returned  an  address  of 
thanks,  and  passed  a  vote  of  credit.  During  the  recess, 
the  old  animosity  of  both  nations  was  inflamed  by  a 
series  of  disastrous  events.  An  English  force  was  cut 
off  in  America;  and  several  French  merchantmen 
were  taken  in  the  West  Indian  seas.  It  was  plain 
that  an  appeal  to  arms  was  at  hand. 

The  first  object  of  the  King  was  to  secure  Hanover ; 
and  Newcastle  was  disposed  to  gratify  lus  master. 
Treaties  were  concluded,  after  the  fashion  of  those 
times,  with  several  petty  German  princes,  who  bound 
themselves  to  find  soldiers  if  England  would  find 
money;  and,  as  it  was  suspected  that  Frederic  the 
Second  had  set  his  heart  on  the  electoral  dominions 
of  his  uncle,  Russia  was  hired  to  keep  Prussia  in  awe. 

When  the  stipulations  of  these  treaties  were  made 
known,  there  arose  throughout  the  kingdom  a  murmur 
from  which  a  judicious  observer  might  easily  prognos- 
ticate the  approach  of  a  tempest.  Newcastle  encoun- 
tered strong  opposition,  even  from  those  whom  he  had 
always  considered  as  his  tools.  Legge,  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer,  refused  to  sign  the  Treasury  war- 
rants which  were  necessary  to  give  effect  to  the  treaties. 
Those  persons  who  were  supposed  to  possess  the  confi- 
dence of  the  young  Prince  of  Wales  and  of  his  mother 
held  very  menacing  language.  In  this  perplexity 
Newcastle  sent  for  Pitt,  hugged  him,  patted  him, 
smirked  at  him,  wept  over  him,  and  lisped  out  the 
highest  compliments  and  the  most  splendid  promises. 
The  King,  who  had  hitherto  been  as  sulky  as  possible, 
\vould  be  civil  to  him  at  the  levee;  he  should  be 
brought  into  the  Cabinet ;  he  should  be  consulted  about 
every  thing  ;  if  he  would  only  be  as  good  a>  to  support 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  231 

the  Hessian  subsidy  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Pitt 
coldly  declined  the  proffered  seat  in  the  Cabinet,  ex- 
pressed the  highest  love  and  reverence  for  the  King, 
and  said  that, /if  his  Majesty  felt  a  strong  personal 
interest  in  the  Hessian  treaty  he  would  so  far  deviate 
from  the  line  which  he  had  traced  out  for  himself  as  to 
give  that  treaty  his  support.  "  Well,  and  the  Russian 
subsidy,"  said  Newcastle.  "  No,"  said  Pitt,  "  not  a 
system  of  subsidies."  The  Duke  summoned  Lord 
Hardwicke  to  his  aid ;  but  Pitt  was  inflexible.  Mur- 
ray would  do  nothing.  Robinson  could  do  nothing. 
It  was  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  Fox.  He  became 
Secretary  of  State,  with  the  full  authority  of  a  leader 
in  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  Sir  Thomas  was  pen- 
sioned off  on  the  Irish  establishment. 

In  November,  1755,  the  Houses  met.  Public  ex- 
pectation was  wound  up  to  the  height.  After  ten 
quiet  years  there  was  to  be  an  Opposition  counte- 
nanced by  the  heir  apparent  of  the  throne,  and  headed 
by  the  most  brilliant  orator  of  the  age.  The  debate 
on  the  address  was  long  remembered  as  one  of  the 
greatest  parliamentary  conflicts  of  that  generation. 
It  began  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  lasted  till  five 
the  next  morning.  It  was  on  this  night  that  Gerard 
Hamilton  delivered  that  single  speech  from  which  his 
nickname  was  derived.  His  eloquence  threw  into  the 
shade  every  orator  except  Pitt,  who  declaimed  against 
the  subsidies  for  an  hour  and  a  half  with  extraordi- 
nary energy  and  effect.  Those  powers  which  had 
formerly  spread  terror  through  the  majorities  of  Wai- 
pole  and  Carteret  were  now  displayed  in  their  highest 
perfection  before  an  audience  long  unaccustomed  to 
such  exhibitions.  One  fragment  of  this  celebrated  ora- 
tion remains  in  a  state  of  tolerable  preservation.  It  ia 


232  WILLIAM  PITT, 

the  comparison  between  the  coalition  of  Fox  and  New- 
castle, and  the  junction  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Saone. 
"  At  Lyons,"  said  Pitt,  "  I  was  taken  to  see  the  place 
where  the  two  rivers  meet,  the  one  gentle,  feeble, 
languid,  and,  though  languid,  yet  of  no  depth,  the 
other  a  boisterous  and  impetuous  torrent:  but  differ- 
ent as  they  are,  they  meet  at  last."  The  amendment 
moved  by  the  Opposition  was  rejected  by  a  great 
majority ;  and  Pitt  and  Legge  were  immediately  dis- 
missed from  their  offices. 

During  several  months  the  contest  in  the  House  of 
Commons  was  extremely  sharp.  Warm  debates  took 
place  on  the  estimates,  debates  still  warmer  on  the 
subsidiary  treaties.  The  Government  succeeded  in 
every  division  ;  but  the  fame  of  Pitt's  eloquence,  and 
the  influence  of  his  lofty  and  determined  character, 
continued  to  increase  through  the  Session  ;  and  the 
events  which  followed  the  prorogation  made  it  utterly 
impossible  for  any  other  pers(  a  to  manage  the  Parlia- 
ment or  the  country. 

The  war  began  in  every  part  of  the  world  with 
events  disastrous  to  England,  and  even  more  shame- 
ful than  disastrous.  But  the  most  humiliating  of 
these  events  was  the  loss  of  Minorca.  The  Duke  of 
Richelieu,  an  old  fop  who  had  passed  his  life  from 
sixteen  to  sixty  in  seducing  women  for  whom  he  cared 
not  one  straw,  landed  on  that  island,  and  succeeded  in 
reducing  it.  Admiral  Byng  was  sent  from  Gibraltar 
to  throw  succours  into  Port-Mahon  ;  but  he  did  not 
think  fit  to  engage  the  French  squadron,  and  sailed 
back  without  having  effected  his  purpose.  The  people 
were  inflamed  to  madness.  A  storm  broke  forth, 
which  appalled  even  those  who  remembered  the  days 
?f  Excise  and  of  South-Sea.  The  shops  \vere  filled 


EARL  OF   CHATHAM.  233 

with  libels  and  caricatures.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  placards.  The  city  of  London  called  for  ven- 
geance, and  the  cry  was  echoed  from  every  corner  of 
the  kingdom.  Dorsetshire,  Huntingdonshire,  Bedford- 
shire, Buckinghamshire,  Somersetshire,  Lancashire, 
Suffolk,  Shropshire,  Surry,  sent  up  strong  addresses  to 
the  throne,  and  instructed  their  representatives  to  vote 
for  a  strict  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  the  late  disasters. 
In  the  great  towns  the  feeling  was  as  strong  as  in  the 
counties.  In  some  of  the  instructions  it  was  even  rec- 
ommended that  the  supplies  should  be  stopped. 

The  nation  was  in  a  state  of  angry  and  sullen  de- 
spondency, almost  unparalleled  in  history.  People 
have,  in  all  ages,  been  in  the  habit  of  talking  about  the 
good  old  times  of  their  ancestors,  and  the  degeneracy 
of  their  contemporaries.  This  is  in  general  merely  a 
cant.  But  in  1756  it  was  something  more.  At  this 
time  appeared  Brown's  Estimate,  a  book  now  remem- 
bered only  by  the  allusions  in  Cowper's  Table  Talk 
and  in  Burke's  Letters  on  a  Regicide  Peace.  It  was 
universally  read,  admired,  and  believed.  The  author 
fully  convinced  his  readers  that  they  were  a  race  of 
cowards  and  scoundrels  ;  that  nothing  could  save  them  ; 
that  they  were  on  the  point  of  being  enslaved  by  their 
enemies,  and  that  they  richly  deserved  their  fate. 
Such  were  the  speculations  to  which  ready  credence 
was  given  at  the  outset  of  the  most  glorious  war  in 
which  England  had  ever  been  engaged. 

Newcastle  now  began  to  tremble  for  his  place,  and 
for  the  only  thing  which  was  dearer  to  him  than  his 
place,  his  neck.  The  people  were  not  in  a  mood  to  be 
trifled  with.  Their  cry  was  for  blood.  For  this  once 
they  might  be  contented  with  the  sacrifice  of  Byng. 
But  what  if  fresh  disasters  should  take  place  ?  What 


234  WILLIAM  PITT, 

If  an  unfriendly  sovereign  should  ascend  the  throne  ? 
What  if  a  hostile  House  of  Commons  should  be  chosen  ? 

At  length,  in  October,  the  decisive  crisis  came.  The 
new  Secretary  of  State  had  been  long  sick  of  the  per- 
fidy and  levity  of  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  and 
began  to  fear  that  he  might  be  made  a  scapegoat  to  save 
the  old  intriguer  who,  imbecile  as  he  seemed,  never 
wanted  dexterity  where  danger  was  to  be  avoided. 
Fox  threw  up  his  office.  Newcastle  had  recourse  to 
Murray  ;  but  Murray  had  now  within  his  reach  the  fa- 
vourite object  of  his  ambition.  The  situation  of  Chief- 
Justice  of  the  King's  Bench  was  vacant;  and  the 
Attorney-General  was  fully  resolved  *c  obtain  it,  or  to 
go  into  Opposition.  Newcastle  offered  him  any  terms, 
the  Duchy  of  Lancaster  for  life,  a  tellership  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, any  amount  of  pension,  two  thousand  a  year, 
six  thousand  a  year.  When  the  Ministers  found  that 
Murray's  mind  was  made  up,  they  pressed  for  delay, 
the  delay  of  a  session,  a  month,  a  week,  a  day.  Would 
he  only  make  his  appearance  once  more  in  the  House 
of  Commons  ?  Would  he  only  speak  in  favour  of  the 
address  ?  He  was  inexorable,  and  peremptorily  said 
that  they  might  give  or  withhold  the  Chief-Justiceship, 
but  that  he  would  be  Attorney-General  no  longer. 

Newcastle  now  contrived  to  overcome  the  prejudices 
of  the  King,  and  overtures  were  made  to  Pitt,  through 
Lord  Hardwicke.  Pitt  knew  his  power,  and  showed 
that  he  knew  it.  He  demanded  as  an  indispensable 
condition  that  Newcastle  should  be  altogether  excluded 
from  the  new  arrangement. 

The  Duke  was  in  a  state  of  ludicrous  distress.  He 
ran  about  chattering  and  crying,  asking  advice  and  lis- 
tening to  none.  In  the  mean  time,  the  Session  drew 
near.  The  public  excitement  was  unabated.  Nobodv 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  235 

tould  be  found  to  face  Pitt  and  Fox  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Newcastle's  heart  failed  him,  and  he  ten- 
dered his  resignation. 

The  King  sent  for  Fox,  and  directed  him  to  form  the 
plan  of  an  administration  in  concert  with  Pitt.  But 
Pitt  had  not  forgotten  old  injuries,  and  positively  refused 
to  act  with  Fox. 

The  King  now  applied  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire, 
and  this  mediator  succeeded  in  making  an  arrangement. 
lie  consented  to  take  the  Treasury.  Pitt  became  Secre- 
tary of  State,  with  the  lead  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
The  Great  Seal  was  put  into  commission.  Legge  re- 
turned to  the  Exchequer ;  and  Lord  Temple,  whose 
sister  Pitt  had  lately  married,  was  placed  at  the  head  of 
the  Admiralty. 

It  was  clear  from  the  first  that  this  administration 
would  last  but  a  very  short  time.  It  lasted  not  quite 
five  months  ;  and,  during  those  five  months,  Pitt  and 
Lord  Temple  were  treated  with  rudeness  by  the  King, 
and  found  but  feeble  support  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  the  Opposition  prevented 
the  re-election  of  some  of  the  new  Ministers.  Pitt,  who 
sat  for  one  of  the  boroughs  which  were  in  the  Pelham 
interest,  found  some  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  seat  after 
his  acceptance  of  the  seals.  So  destitute  was  the  new 
Government  of  that  sort  of  influence  without  which  no 
Government  could  then  be  durable.  One  of  the  armi- 

O 

ments  most  frequently  ui'ged  against  the  Reform  Bill 
>\as  that,  uiider  a  system  of  popular  representation, 
men  whose  presence  in  the  House  of  Commons  was 
necessary  to  the  conducting  of  public  business  might 
i\ften  find  it  impossible  to  find  seats.  Should  this  in- 
con  vonience  ever  be  felt,  there  cannot  be  the  slightest 
difficulty  in  devising  and  applying  a  remedy.  But  those 


236  WILLIAM  PITT, 

who  threatened  us  with  this  evil  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered that,  under  the  old  system,  a  great  man  called  to 
power  at  a  great  crisis  by  the  voice  of  the  whole  nation 
was  in  danger  of  being  excluded,  by  an  aristocratical 
cabal,  from  that  House  of  which  he  was  the  most  dis- 
tinguished ornament. 

The  most  important  event  of  this  short  administra- 
tion was  the  trial  of  Byng.  On  that  subject  public 
opinion  is  still  divided.  We  think  the  punishment  of 
the  Admiral  altogether  unjust  and  absurd.  Treachery, 
cowardice,  ignorance  amounting  to  what  lawyers  have 
called  crassa  ignorantia,  are  fit  objects  of  severe  penal 
inflictions.  But  Byng  was  not  found  guilty  of  treach- 
ery, of  cowardice,  or  of  gross  ignorance  of  his  profes- 
sion He  died  for  doing  what  the  most  loyal  subject, 
the  most  intrepid  warrior,  the  most  experienced  seaman, 
might  have  done.  He  died  for  an  error  in  judgment, 
an  error  such  as  the  greatest  commanders,  Frederic, 
Napoleon,  Wellington,  have  o/ten  committed,  and  have 
often  acknowledged.  Such  errors  are  not  proper  ob- 
jects of  punishment,  for  this  reason,  that  the  punishing 
of  such  errors  tends  not  to  prevent  them,  but  to  pro- 
duce them.  The  dread  of  an  ignominious  death  may 
stimulate  sluggishness  to  exertion,  may  keep  a  traitor 
to  his  standard,  may  prevent  a  coward  from  running 
away,  but  it  has  no  tendency  to  bring  out  those  quali- 
ties which  enable  men  to  form  prompt  and  judicious 
decisions  in  great  emergencies.  The  best  marksman 
may  be  expected  to  fail  when  the  apple  which  is  to  te 
,ais  mark  is  set  on  his  child's  head.  We  cannot  con- 
reive  any  thing  more  likely  to  deprive  an  officer  of  his 
self-possession  at  the  time  when  he  most  needs  it  than 
the  knowledge  that,  if  the  judgment  of  his  superiors 
should  not  agree  with  his,  he  will  be  executed  with 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  237 

every  circumstance  of  shame.  Queens,  it  has  often 
been  said,  run  far  greater  risk  in  childbed  than  private 
women,  merely  because  their  medical  attendants  are 
more  anxious.  The  surgeon  who  attended  Marie  Louise 
was  altogether  unnerved  by  his  emotions.  "  Compose 
yourself,"  said  Bonaparte  ;  "imagine  that  you  are  assist- 
big  a  poor  girl  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine."  This 
was  surely  a  far  wiser  course  than  that  of  the  Eastern 
king  in  the  Arabian  Knights'  Entertainments,  who 
proclaimed  that  the  physicians  who  failed  to  cure  his 
daughter  should  have  their  heads  chopped  off.  Bona- 
parte knew  mankind  well ;  and,  as  he  acted  towards 
this  surgeon,  he  acted  towards  his  officers.  No  sover- 
eign was  ever  so  indulgent  to  mere  errors  of  judg- 
ment ;  and  it  is  certain  that  no  sovereign  ever  had  in 
his  service  so  many  military  men  fit  for  the  highest 
commands. 

Pitt  acted  a  brave  and  honest  part  on  this  occasion. 
He  ventured  to  put  both  his  power  and  his  popularity 
to  hazard,  and  spoke  manfully  for  Byng,  both  in  Par- 
liament and  in  the  royal  presence.  But  the  King  was 
inexorable.  "  The  House  of  Commons,  Sir,"  said 
Pitt,  "  seems  inclined  to  mercy."  "  Sir,"  answered 
the  King,  "  you  have  taught  me  to  look  for  the  sense 
of  my  people  in  other  places  than  the  House  of  Com- 
mons." The  saying  has  more  point  than  most  of  those 
which  are  recorded  of  George  the  Second,  and,  though 
sarcastically  meant,  contains  a  high  and  just  compli- 
ment to  Pitt. 

The  King  disliked  Pitt,  but  absolutely  hated  Tsm- 
}Je.  The  new  Secretary  of  State,  his  Majesty  said, 
had  never  read  Vatel,  and  was  tedious  and  pompous, 
but  respectful.  The  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  waa 
grossly  impertinent.  Walpole  tells  one  story,  which, 


238  WILLIAM  PITT, 

we  fear,  is  much  too  good  to  be  true.  He  assures  us 
that  Temple  entertained  his  royal  master  with  an 
elaborate  parallel  between  Byng's  behaviour  at  Mi- 
norca, and  his  Majesty's  behaviour  at  Oudenarde, 
in  which  the  advantage  was  all  on  the  side  of  the  Ad- 
miral. 

This  state  of  things  could  not  last.  Early  in  April, 
Pitt  and  all  his  friends  were  turned  out,  and  Newcastle 
was  summoned  to  St.  James's.  But  the  public  discon- 
tent was  not  extinguished.  It  had  subsided  when  Pitt 
was  called  to  power.  But  it  still  glowed  under  the 
embers ;  and  it  now  burst  at  once  into  a  flame.  The 
stocks  fell.  The  Common  Council  met.  The  free- 
dom of  the  city  was  voted  to  Pitt.  All  the  greatest 
corporate  towns  followed  the  example.  "  For  some 
weeks,"  says  Walpole,  "  it  rained  gold  boxes." 

This  was  the  turning  point  of  Pitt's  life.  It  might 
have  been  expected  that  a  man  of  so  haughty  and 
vehement  a  nature,  treated  so  ungraciously  by  the 
Court,  and  supported  so  enthusiastically  by  the  people, 
would  have  eagerly  taken  the  first  opportunity  of 
showing  his  power  and  gratifying  his  resentment ; 
and  an  opportunity  was  not  wanting.  The  members 
for  many  counties  and  large  towns  had  been  instructed 
to  vote  for  an  inquiry  into  the  circumstances  which 
aad 'produced  the  miscarriage  of  the  preceding  year. 
\.  motion  for  inquiry  had  been  carried  in  the  House 
vjf  Commons,  without  opposition ;  and,  a  few  days 
tfter  Pitt's  dismissal,  the  investigation  commenced. 
Newcastle  and  his  colleagues  obtained  a  vote  of  ac- 
quittal ;  but  the  minority  were  so  strong  that  they 
could  not  venture  to  ask  for  a  vote  of  approbation,  as 
they  had  at  first  intended ;  and  it  was  thought  by 
tome  shrewd  observers  that,  if  Pitt  had  exerted  him 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  239 

self  to  the  utmost   of  his  power,   the  inquiry  might 
have  ended  in  a  censure,  if  not  in  an  impeachment. 

Pitt  showed  on  this  occasion  a  moderation  and  self- 
government  which  was  not  habitual  to  him.  He  had 
found  by  experience,  that  he  could  not  stand  alone. 
His  eloquence  and  his  popularity  had  done  much, 
very  much  for  him.  Without  rank,  without  fortune, 
without  borough  interest,  hated  by  the  King,  hated  by 
the  aristocracy,  he  was  a  person  of  the  first  importance 
in  the  state.  He  had  been  suffered  to  form  a  ministry, 
and  to  pronounce  sentence  of  exclusion  on  all  his 
rivals,  on  the  most  powerful  nobleman  of  the  Whig 
party,  on  the  ablest  debater  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
And  he  now  found  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  The 
English  Constitution  was  not,  indeed,  without  a  pop- 
ular element.  But  other  elements  generally  predomi- 
nated. The  confidence  and  admiration  of  the  nation 
might  make  a  statesman  formidable  at  the  head  of  an 
Opposition,  might  load  him  with  framed  and  glazed 
parchments  and  gold  boxes,  might  possibly,  under  very 
peculiar  circumstances,  such  as  those  of  the  preceding 
year,  raise  him  for  a  tune  to  power.  But,  constituted 
as  Parliament  then  was,  the  favourite  of  the  people 
could  not  depend  on  a  majority  in  the  people's  own 
House.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle,  however  contempti- 
ble in  morals,  manners,  and  understanding,  was  a  dan- 
gerous enemy.  His  rank,  his  wealth,  his  unrivalled 
parliamentary  interest,  would  alone  have  made  him 
important.  But  this  was  not  all.  The  Whig  aristoc- 
racy regarded  him  as  their  leader.  His  long  possession 
jf  power  had  given  him  a  kind  of  prescriptive  right  to 
possess  it  still.  The  House  of  Commons  had  been 
elected  when  he  was  at  the  head  of  affairs.  The 
members  for  the  ministerial  boroughs  had  all  been 


240  \VILLIAM  PITT, 

nominated  by  him.  The  public  offices  swarmed  with 
his  creatures. 

Pitt  desired  power;  and  he  desired  it,  we  really 
believe,  from  high  and  generous  motives.  He  was, 
in  the  strict  sense  'of  the  word,  a  patriot.  He  had 
none  of  that  philanthropy  which  the  great  French 
writers  of  his  time  preached  to  all  the  nations  of  Europe. 
He  loved  England  as  an  Athenian  loved  the  City  of 
the  Violet  Crown,  as  a  Roman  loved  the  City  of  the 
Seven  Hills.  He  saw  his  country  insulted  and  de- 
feated. He  saw  the  national  spirit  sinking.  Yet  he 
knew  what  the  resources  of  the  empire,  vigorously  em- 
ployed, could  effect;  and  he  felt  that  he  was  the  man 
to  employ  them  vigorously.  "  My  Lord,"  he  said  to 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  "  I  am  sure  that  I  can  save 
this  country,  and  that  nobody  else  can." 

Desiring,  then,  to  be  in  power,  and  feeling  that  his 
abilities  and  the  public  confidence  were  not  alone  suffi- 
cient to  keep  him  in  power  against  the  wishes  of  the 
Cv.urt  and  of  the  aristocracy,  he  began  to  think  of  a 
coalition  with  Newcastle. 

Newcastle  was  equally  disposed  to  a  reconciliation. 
He,  too,  had  profited  by  his  recent  experience.  He 
had  found  that  the  Court  and  the  aristocracy,  though 
powerful,  were  not  every  thing  in  the  state.  A  strong 
oligarchical  connection,  a  great  borough  interest,  am- 
ple patronage,  and  secret-service  money,  might,  in 
.juiet  times,  be  all  that  a  Minister  needed  ;  but  it  was 
unsafe  to  trust  wholly  to  such  support  in  time  of  war, 
of  discontent,  and  of  agitation.  The  composition  of  the 
House  of  Commons  was  not  Avholly  ai'istocratical  ;  and, 
whatever  be  the  composition  of  large  deliberative  as- 
semblies, their  spirit  is  always  in  some  degree  popular. 
Where  there  are  free  debates,  eloquence  must  have 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  241 

Admirers,  and  reason  must  make  converts.  Where 
lliere  is  a  free  press,  the  governors  must  live  in  con- 
itant  awe  of  the  opinions  of  the  governed. 

Tims  these  two  men,  so  unlike  in  character,  so  lately 
mortal  enemies,  were  necessary  to  each  other.  New* 
castle  had  fallen  in  November,  for  want  of  that  public 
confidence  which  Pitt  possessed,  and  of  that  parliamen- 
tary support  which  Pitt  was  better  qualified  than  any 
man  of  his  time  to  give.  Pitt  had  fallen  in  April,  for 
want  of  that  species  of  influence  which  Newcastle  had 
passed  his  whole  life  in  acquiring  and  hoarding.  Neither 
of  them  had  power  enough  to  support  himself.  Each 
of  them  had  power  enough  to  overturn  the  other. 
Their  union  would  be  irresistible.  Neither  the  King 
nor  any  pa/ty  in  the  state  would  be  able  to  stand 
against  them. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Pitt  was  not  disposed  to 
proceed  to  extremities  against  his  predecessors  in  office. 
Something,  however,  was  due  to  consistency ;  and 
something  was  necessary  for  the  preservation  of  his 
popularity.  He  did  little  ;  but  that  little  he  did  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  produce  great  effect.  He  came 
down  to  the  House  in  all  the  pomp  of  gout,  his  legs 
swathed  in  flannels,  his  arm  dangling  in  a  sling.  He 
Aept  his  seat  through  several  fatiguing  days,  in  spite  of 
pain  and  languor.  He  uttered  a  few  sharp  and  vehe- 
ment sentences  ;  but  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
discussion,  his  language  was  unusually  gentle. 

When  the  inquiry  had  terminated  without  a  vote 
either  of  approbation  or  of  censure,  the  great  obstacle 
to  a  coalition  was  removed.  Many  obstacles,  however, 
remained.  The  King  was  still  rejoicing  in  his  deliver- 
ance from  the  proud  and  aspiring  Minister  who  had 
been  forced  on  him  by  the  cry  of  the  nation.  His 
VOL.  in.  11 


242  WILLIAM  PITT, 

Majesty's  indignation  was  excited  to  the  highest  point 
when  it  appeared  that  Newcastle,  who  had,  during 
thirty  years,  been  loaded  with  marks  of  royal  favour, 
and  who  had  bound  himself,  by  a  solemn  promise, 
never  to  coalesce  with  Pitt,  was  meditating  a  new  per- 
fidy. Of  all  the  statesmen  of  that  age,  Fox  had  the 
largest  share  of  royal  favour.  A  coalition  between 
Fox  and  Newcastle  was  the  arrangement  which  the 
King  wished  to  bring  about.  But  the  Duke  was  too 
cunning  to  fall  into  such  a  snare.  As  a  speaker  in 
Parliament,  Fox  might  perhaps  be,  on  the  whole,  as 
useful  to  an  administration  as  his  great  rival ;  but  he 
was  one  of  the  most  unpopular  men  in  England.  Then, 
again,  Newcastle  felt  all  that  jealousy  of  Fox,  which, 
according  to  the  proverb,  generally  exists  between  two 
of  a  trade.  Fox  would  certainly  intermeddle  with  that 
department  which  the  Duke  was  most  desirous  to  re- 
serve entire  to  himself,  the  jobbing  department.  Pitt, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  quite  willing  to  leave  the 
drudgery  of  corruption  to  any  who  might  be  inclined 
to  undertake  it. 

During  eleven  weeks  England  remained  without  a 
ministry  ;  and  in  the  mean  time  Parliament  Avas  sit- 
ting, and  a  war  was  raging.  The  prejudices  of  the 
King,  the  haughtiness  of  Pitt,  the  jealousy,  levity, 
and  treachery  of  Newcastle,  delayed  the  settlement. 
Pitt  knew  the  Duke  too  well  to  trust  him  without 
security.  The  Duke  loved  power  too  much  to  be 
inclined  to  give  security.  While  they  were  haggling, 
the  King  was  in  vain  attempting  to  produce  a  final 
tupture  between  them,  or  to  form  a  Government  with- 
out them.  At  one  time  he  applied  to  Lord  Waldgrave, 
\n  honest  and  ssnsible  man,  but  unpractised  in  affairs. 
Lord  Waldgrave  had  the  courage  to  accept  tlie  Trea 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  248 

sury,  but  soon  found  that  no  administration  formed 
by  him  had  the  smallest  chance  of  standing  a  single 
week. 

At  length  the  King's  pertinacity  yielded  to  the  neces- 
sity of  the  case.  After  exclaiming  with  great  bitter- 
ness, and  with  some  justice,  against  the  Whigs,  who 
ought,  he  said,  to  be  ashamed  to  talk  about  liberty 
while  they  submitted  to  the  footmen  of  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  his  Majesty  submitted.  The  influence  of 
Leicester  House  prevailed  on  Pitt  to  abate  a  little,  and 
but  a  little,  of  his  high  demands  ;  and  all  at  once,  out 
of  the  chaos  in  which  parties  had  for  some  time  been 
rising,  falling,  meeting,  separating,  arose  a  government 
as  strong  at  home  as  that  of  Pelham,  as  successful 
abroad  as  that  of  Godolphin. 

Newcastle  took  the  Treasury.  Pitt  was  Secretary  of 
State,  with  the  lead  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
with  the  supreme  direction  of  the  war  and  of  foreign 
affairs.  Fox,  the  only  man  who  could  have  given  much 
annoyance  to  the  new  Government,  was  silenced  witli 
the  office  of  Paymaster,  which,  during  the  continuance 
of  that  war,  was  probably  the  most  lucrative  place  in 
the  whole  Government.  He  was  poor,  and  the  situa- 
tion was  tempting ;  yet  it  cannot  but  seem  extraordi- 
nary that  a  man  who  had  played  a  first  part  in  politics, 
and  whose  abilities  had  been  found  not  unequal  to  that 
part,  who  had  sat  in  the  Cabinet,  who  had  led  the 
House  of  Commons,  who  had  been  twice  intrusted  by 
the  King  with  the  office  of  forming  a  ministry,  who 
was  regarded  as  the  rival  of  Pitt,  and  who  at  one  time 
seemed  likely  to  be  a  successful  rival,  should  have  con- 
sented, for  the  sake  of  emolument,  to  take  a  subordinate 
place,  and  to  give  silent  votes  for  all  the  measures  of  a 
government  to  the  deliberations  of  which  he  was  not 
summoned. 


244  WILLIAM  PITT 

The  first  acts  of  the  new  administration  were  charac- 
terized rather  by  vigour  than  by  judgment.  Expedi- 
tions were  sent  against  different  parts  of  the  French 
coast  with  little  success.  The  small  island  of  Aix  was 
taken,  Rochefort  threatened,  a  few  ships  burned  in  tin 
harbour  of  St.  Maloes,  and  a  few  guns  and  mortars 
brought  home  as  trophies  from  the  fortifications  of  Cher- 
bourg. But  soon  conquests  of  a  very  different  kind 
filled  the  kingdom  with  pride  and  rejoicing.  A  succes- 
sion of  victories  undoubtedly  brilliant,  and,  as  it  was 
thought,  not  barren,  raised  to  the  highest  point  the  fame 
of  the  minister  to  whom  the  conduct  of  the  war  had 
been  intrusted.  In  July,  1758,  Louisburg  fell.  The 
whole  island  of  Cape  Breton  was  reduced.  The  fleet 
to  which  the  Court  of  Versailles  had  confided  the  de- 
fence of  French  America  was  destroyed.  The  captured 
standards  were  borne  in  triumph  from  Kensington  Pal- 
ace to  the  city,  and  Avere  suspended  in  St.  Paul's 
Church,  amidst  the  roar  of  guns  and  kettle-Jrums,  and 
the  shouts  of  an  immense  multitude.  Addresses  of 
congratulation  came  in  from  all  the  great  towns  of  Eng- 
land. Parliament  met  only  to  decree  thanks  and  monu- 
ments, and  to  bestow,  without  one  murmur,  supplies 
more  than  double  of  those  which  had  been  given  during 
the  war  of  the  Grand  Alliance. 

The  year  1759  opened  with  the  conquest  of  Goree. 
Next  fell  Guadaloupe ;  then  Ticonderoga  ;  then  Niag- 
ara. The  Toulon  squadron  was  completely  defeated 
by  Boscawen  off  Cape  Lagos.  But  the  greatest  exploit 
of  the  year  was  the  achievement  of  Wolfe  on  the 
heights  of  Abraham.  The  news  of  his  glorious  death 
and  of  the  fall  of  Quebec  reached  London  in  the  very 
fyeek  in  which  the  Houses  met.  All  was  joy  and  tri- 
umph. Envy  and  faction  were  forced  to  join  in  thf 


EAEL  OF  CHATHAM.  245 

general  applause.  Whigs  and  Tories  vied  with  each 
other  in  extolling  the  genius  and  energy  of  Pitt.  His 
colleagues  were  never  talked  of  or  though!  of.  The 
House  of  Commons,  the  nation,  the  colonies,  our  allies, 
our  enemies,  had  their  eyes  fixed  on  him  alone. 

Scarcely  had  Parliament  voted  a  monument  to  Wolfe 
when  another  great  event  called  for  fresh  rejoicings. 
The  Brest  fleet,  under  the  command  of  Conflans,  had 
put  out  to  sea.  It  was  overtaken  by  an  English  squad- 
ron under  Hawke.  Conflans  attempted  to  take  shelter 
close  under  the  French  coast.  The  shore  was  rocky : 
the  niirht  was  black  :  the  wind  was  furious :  the  waves 

O 

of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  ran  high.  But  Pitt  had  infused 
into  every  branch  of  the  service  a  spirit  which  had  long 
been  unknown.  No  British  seaman  was  disposed  to  err 
on  the  same  side  with  Byng.  The  pilot  told  Hawrke 
that  the  attack  could  not  be  made  without  the  greatest 
danger.  "  You  have  done  your  duty  in  remonstrating," 
answered  Hawke  ;  "  I  will  answer  for  every  thing.  I 
command  you  to  lay  me  alongside  the  French  admiral." 
Two  French  ships  of  the  line  struck.  Four  were  de- 
stroyed. The  rest  hid  themselves  in  the  rivers  of 
Britanny. 

The  year  1760  came  ;  and  still  triumph  followed 
triumph .  Montreal  was  taken ;  the  whole  province  of 
Canada  was  subjugated;  the  French  fleets  underwent 
a  succession  of  disasters  in  the  seas  of  Europe  and 
America. 

In  the  meantime  conquests  equalling  in  rapidity, 
and  far  surpassing  in  magnitude,  those  of  Cortes  and 
Pizarro,  had  been  achieved  in  the  East.  In  the  space 
j>f  three  years  the  English  had  founded  a  mighty  em- 
pire. The  French  had  been  defeated  in  every  part 
if  India.  Chandernajjore  had  sirrendered  to  Clive, 


246  WILLIAM  PITT, 

Pindicherry  to  Coote.  Throughout  Bengal,  Bahar, 
Orissa  and  the  Carnatic,  the  authority  of  the  East 
India  Company  was  more  absolute  than  that  of  Acbal 
or  Aurungzebe  had  ever  been. 

On  the  continent  of  Europe  the  odds  were  against 
England.  We  had  but  one  important  ally,  the 
King  of  Prussia ;  and  he  was  attacked,  not  only  by 
France,  but  also  by  Russia  and  Austria.  Yet  even  on 
the  Continent,  the  energy  of  Pitt  triumphed  over  all 
difficulties.  Vehemently  as  he  had  condemned  tho 
practice  of  subsidising  foreign  princes,  he  now  earned 
that  practice  farther  than  Carteret  himself  would  have 
ventured  to  do.  The  active  and  able  Sovereign  of 
Prussia  received  such  pecuniary  assistance  as  enabled 
him  to  maintain  the  conflict  on  equal  terms  against  his 
powerful  enemies.  On  no  subject  had  Pitt  ever  spoken 
with  so  much  eloquence  and  ardour  as  on  the  mischiefs 
of  the  Hanoverian  connection.  He  now  declared,  not 
without  much  show  of  reason,  that  it  would  be  unwor- 
thy of  the  English  people  to  suffer  their  King  to  be 
deprived  of  his  electoral  dominions  in  an  English  quar- 
rel. He  assured  his  countrymen  that  they  should  ts 
no  losers,  and  that  he  would  conquer  America  for  them 
in  Germany.  By  taking  this  line  he  conciliated  the 
King,  and  lost  no  part  of  his  influence  with  the  nation 
In  Parliament,  such  was  the  ascendency  which  his 
eloquence,  his  success,  his  high  situation,  his  pride,  and 
his  intrepidity  had  obtained  for  him,  that  he  took  liber* 
ties  with  the  House  of  which  there  had  been  no  exam- 
ple, and  which  have  never  since  been  imitated.  No 
orator  could  there  venture  to  reproach  him  Avith  incon- 
sistency. One  unfortunate  man  made  the  attempt, 
and  was  so  much  disconcerted  by  the  scornful  demean- 
our cf  the  Minister  that  he  stammered,  stopped,  ant 


EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  247 

eat  down.  Even  the  old  Tory  country  gentlemen,  tc 
whom  the  very  name  of  Hanover  had  been  odious, 
gave  their  hearty  Ayes  to  subsidy  after  subsidy.  In  a 
lively  contemporary  satire,  much  more  lively  indeed 
than  delicate,  this  remarkable  conversion  is  not  unhap* 
pily  described. 

"  No  more  they  make  a  fiddle-faddle 
About  a  Hessian  horse  or  saddle. 
No  more  of  continental  measures ; 
No  more  of  wasting  British  treasures. 
Ten  millions,  and  a  vote  of  credit, 
'Tis  right.    He  can't  be  wrong  who  did  it." 

The  success  of  Pitt's  continental  measures  was  such 
as  might  have  been  expected  from  their  vigour.  When 
he  came  into  power,  Hanover  was  in  imminent  danger ; 
and  before  he  had  been  in  office  three  months,  the 
whole  electorate  was  in  the  hands  of  France.  But  the 
face  of  affairs  was  speedily  changed.  The  invaders 
were  driven  out.  An  army,  partly  English,  partly 
Hanoverian,  partly  composed  of  soldiers  furnished  by 
the  petty  princes  of  Germany,  was  placed  under  the 
command  of  Prince  Ferdinand  of  Brunswick.  The 
French  were  beaten  in  1758  at  Crevelt.  In  1759  they 
received  a  still  more  complete  and  humiliating  defeat  at 
Minden. 

In  the  meantime,  the  nation  exhibited  all  the  signs  of 
wealth  and 'prosperity.  The  merchants  of  London  had 
never  been  more  thriving.  The  importance  of  several 
great  commercial  and  manufacturing  towns,  of  Glas- 
gow in  particular,  dates  from  this  period.  The  fine 
inscription  on  the  monument  of  Lord  Chatham  in 
Guildhall  records  the  general  opinion  of  the  citizens  of 
London,  that  under  his  administration  commerce  had 
oeen  "  united  with  and  made  to  flourish  by  war." 


248  WILLIAM  PITT, 

It  must  be  owned  that  these  signs  of  prosperity  were 
in  some  degree  delusive.  It  must  be  owned  that  some 
of  our  conquests  were  rather  splendid  than  useful.  It 
must  be  owned  that  the  expense  of  the  war  never  en- 
tered into  Pitt's  consideration.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say  that  the  cost  of  his  victories  increased 
the  pleasure  with  Avhich  he  contemplated  them.  Unlike 
other  men  in  his  situation,  he  loved  to  exaggerate  the 
sums  which  the  nation  was  laying  out  under  his  direc- 
tion. He  was  proud  of  the  sacrifices  and  efforts  which 
his  eloquence  and  his  success  had  induced  his  country- 
men to  make.  The  price  at  wliich  he  purchased  faith- 
ful service  and  complete  victory,  though  far  smaller  than 
that  which  his  son,  the  most  profuse  and  incapable  of 
war  ministers,  paid  for  treachery,  defeat,  and  shame, 
was  long  and  severely  felt  by  the  nation. 

Even  as  a  war  minister,  Pitt  is  scarcely  entitled  to  all 
the  praise  which  his  contemporaries  lavished  on  him. 
We,  perhaps  from  ignorance,  cannot  discern  in  his  ar- 
rangements any  appearance  of  profound  or  dexterous 
combination.  Several  of  his  expeditions,  particularly 
those  which  were  sent  to  the  coast  of  France,  were  at 
once  costly  and  absurd.  Our  Indian  conquests,  though 
they  add  to  the  splendour  of  the  period  during  which 
he  was  at  the  head  of  affairs,  were  not  planned  by  him. 
He  had  undoubtedly  great  energy,  great  determination, 
great  means  at  his  command.  His  temper  was  enter- 
prising ;  and,  situated  as  he  was,  he  had  only  to  follow 
his  temper.  The  wealth  of  a  rich  nation,  the  valour  of 
a  brave  nation,  were  ready  to  support  him  in  every 
attempt. 

In  one  respect,  however,  he  deserved  all  the  praise 
vhat  l.o  has  ever  received.  The  success  of  our  arma 
was  perhaps  owing  less  to  the  skill  of  bis  disposition! 


EAKL  OF   CHATHAM.  249 

than  to  the  national  resources  and  the  national  spirit. 
But  that  the  national  spirit  rose  to  the  emergency,  that 
the  national  resources  were  contributed  with  unexampled 
cheerfulness,  this  was  undoubtedly  his  work.  The  ar- 
dour of  his  soul  had  set  the  whole  kingdom  on  fire.  It 

O 

inflamed  every  soldier  who  dragged  the  cannon  up  the 
heights  of  Quebec,  and  every  sailor  who  boarded  the 
French  ships  among  the  rocks  of  Britanny.  The  Min- 
ister, before  he  had  been  long  in  office,  had  imparted  to 
the  commanders  whom  he  employed  his  own  impetuous, 
adventurous,  and  defying  character.  They,  like  him, 
were  disposed  to  risk  eveiy  thing,  to  play  double  or 
quits  to  the  last,  to  think  nothing  done  while  any  thing 
remained  undone,  to  fail  rather  than  not  to  attempt. 
For  the  errors  of  rashness  there  might  be  indulgence. 
For  over-caution,  for  faults  like  those  of  Lord  George 
Sackville,  there  was  no  mercy.  In  other  times,  and 
against  other  enemies,  this  mode  of  warfare  might  have 
failed.  But  the  state  of  the  French  government  and 
of  the  French  nation  gave  every  advantage  to  Pitt. 
The  fops  and  intriguers  of  Versailles  were  appalled 
and  bewildered  by  his  vigour.  A  panic  spread  through 
all  ranks  of  society.  Our  enemies  soon  considered  it 
as  a  settled  thing  that  they  were  always  to  be  beaten. 
Thus  victory  begot  victory ;  till,  at  last,  wherever  the 
forces  of  the  two  nations  met,  they  met  with  disdainful 
confidence  on  one  side,  and  with  a  craven  fear  on  the 
other. 

The  situation  which  Pitt  occupied  at  the  close  of  the 
Veign  of  George  the  Second  was  the  most  enviable  ever 
occupied  by  any  public  man  in  English  history.  He 
had  conciliated  the  King ;  he  domineered  over  the 
House  of  Commons  ;  he  was  adored  by  the  people  ;  he 
was  admired  by  all  Europe.  He  was  the  first  English- 


250  WILLIAM  PITT. 

man  of  liis  time ;  and  he  had  made  England  the  first 
country  in  the  world.  The  Great  Commoner,  the 
name  by  which  he  was  often  designated,  might  look 
down  with  scorn  on  coronets  and  garters.  The  nation 
was  drunk  with  joy  and  pride.  The  Parliament  was  as 
quiet  as  it  had  been  under  Pelham.  The  old  party 
distinctions  were  almost  effaced;  nor  was  their  place 
yet  supplied  by  distinctions  of  a  still  more  important 
kind.  A  new  generation  of  country  squires  and  rectors 
had  arisen  who  knew  not  the  Stuarts.  The  Dissenters 
were  tolerated ;  the  Catholics  not  cruelly  persecuted. 
The  Church  was.  drowsy  and  indulgent.  The  great 
civil  and  religious  conflict  which  began  at  the  Reforma- 
tion seemed  to  have  terminated  in  universal  repose. 
Whigs  and  Tories,  Churchmen  and  Puritans,  spoke 
with  equal  reverence  of  the  constitution,  and  with  equal 
enthusiasm  of  the  talents,  virtues,  and  services  of  the 
Minister. 

A  few  years  sufficed  to  change  the  whole  aspect  of 
affairs.  A  nation  convulsed  by  faction,  a  throne  as- 
sailed by  the  fiercest  invective,  a  House  of  Commons 
hated  and  despised  by  the  nation,  England  set  against 
Scotland,  Britain  set  against  America,  a  rival  legisla- 
ture sitting  beyond  the  Atlantic,  English  blood  shed  by 
English  bayonets,  our  armies  capitulating,  our  con- 
quests wrested  from  us,  our  enemies  hastening  to  take 
vengeance  for  past  humiliation,  our  flag  scarcely  able 
to  maintain  itself  in  our  own  seas,  such  was  the  specta- 
cle which  Pitt  lived  to  see.  But  the  history  of  this 
great  revolution  requires  far  more  space  than  we  can 
at  present  bestow.  We  leave  the  Great  Commoner  in 
the  zenith  of  his  glory.  It  is  not  impossible  that  we 
may  take  some  other  opportunity  of  tracing  his  life  to 
ts  melancholly,  yet  not  inglorious  close. 


SIR    JAMES    MACKINTOSH.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  July,  1835.) 

IT  is  with  unfeigned  diffidence  that  we  venture  to 
give  our  opinion  of  the  last  work  of  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh. We  have  in  vain  tried  to  perform  what  ought 
to  be  to  a  critic  an  easy  and  habitual  act.  We  have 
in  vain  tried  to  separate  the  book  from  the  writer,  and 
to  judge  of  it  as  if  it  bore  some  unknown  name.  But 
it  is  to  no  purpose.  All  the  lines  of  that  venerable 
countenance  are  before  us.  All  the  little  peculiar  ca- 
dences of  that  voice  from  which  scholars  and  statesmen 
loved  to  receive  the  lessons  of  a  serene  and  benevolent 

1  Uiflory  o/*  the  Revolution  in  England,  in  1688.  Comprising  a  View  of 
the  Reign  of  James  the  Second,  from  his  Accession  to  the  Enterprise  of  the 
Prince,  of  Orange,  by  the  late  Kight  Honourable  Sir  JAMES  MACKINTOSH; 
and  completed  to  the.  Settlement  of  (he  Crown,  by  tlie  Editor.  To  which  it 
prefixed  a  Notice  of  (he  Life,  Writings,  and  Speeches  of  Sir  James  Mackin- 
tosh. 4to.  London:  1834.* 

*  In  this  review,  as  it  originally  stood,  the  editor  of  the  History  of  the 
Revolution  was  attacked  with  an  asperity  which  neither  literary  defects 
nor  speculative  differences  can  justify,  and  which  ought  to  he  reserved 
for  offences  against  the  laws  of  morality  and  honour.  The  reviewer  was 
not  actuated  by  any  feeling  of  personal  malevolence:  for  when  he  wrote 
this  paper  in  a  distant  country,  he  did  not  know,  or  even  guess,  whom  ha 
was  assailing.  His  only  motive  was  regard  for  the  memory  of  an  eminent 
man  whom  he  loved  and  honoured,  and  who  appeared  to  him  to  have  been 
an  worthily  treated. 

Ths  editor  is  now  dead;  and,  whi!  living,  declared  that  he  had  been 
misuzv.lerstood,  and»  that  lie  had  written  in  no  spirit  of  enmity  to  Sir 
James  Mackintosh,  for  whom  he  professed  the  highest  respect. 

Many  passages  have  therefore  been  softened,  and  some  wholly  omitted. 
The  severe  censure  passed  on  the  literary  execution  of  the  Memoir  and 
the  Continuation  could  not  be  retracted  without  a  violation  of  truth.  But 
whatever  could  be  construed  into  an  imputation  on  the  moral  charaetei 
if  the  editor  has  been  carefully  expunged. 


252  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

wisdom  are  -in  our  ears.  We  will  attempt  to  preserve 
strict  impartiality.  But  we  are  not  ashamed  to  own 
that  we  approach  this  relic  of  a  virtuous  and  most  ac- 
complished man  with  feelings  of  respect  and  gratitud3 
which  may  possibly  pervert  our  judgment. 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  avoid  instituting  a  com- 
parison between  this  work  and  another  celebrated 
Fragment.  Our  readers  will  easily  guess  that  we 
allude  to  Mr.  Fox's  History  of  James  the  Second. 
The  two  books  relate  to  the  same  subject.  Both  were 
posthumously  published.  Neither  had  received  the 
last  corrections.  The  authors  belonged  to  the  same 
political  party,  and  held  the  same  opinions  concerning 
the  merits  and  defects  of  the  English  constitution, 
and  concerning  most  of  the  prominent  characters  and 
events  in  English  history.  Both  had  thought  much 
on  the  principles  of  government ;  yet  they  were  not 
mere  speculators.  Both  had  ransacked  the  archives 
of  rival  kingdoms,  and  pored  on  folios  which  had 
mouldered  for  ages  in  deserted  libraries ;  yet  they 
were  not  mere  antiquaries.  They  had  one  eminent 
qualification  for  writing  history :  they  had  spoken 
history,  acted  history,  lived  history.  The  turns  of 
political  fortune,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  popular  feeling, 
the  hidden  mechanism  by  which  parties  are  moved, 
all  these  things  were  the  subjects  of  their  constant 
thought  and  of  their  most  familiar  conversation.  Gib- 
bon has  remarked  that  he  owed  part  of  his  success 
as  a  historian  to  the  observations  which  he  had  made 
as  an  officer  in  the  militia  and  as  a  member  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  The  remark  is  most  just.  We 
have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  his  campaign,  though 
he  never  saw  an  enemy,  and  his  parliamentary  attend- 
ince,  though  he  never  made  a  speech,  were  of  far 


HISTORY  OF  THE  DEVOLUTION. 

more  use  to  him  than  years  of  retirement  and  study 
would  have  been.  If  the  time  that  he  spent  on  parade 
and  at  mess  in  Hampshire,  or  on  the  Treasury  bench 
and  at  Brookes's  during  the  storms  which  overthrew 
Lord  North  and  Lord  Shelburne,  had  been  passed  in 
the  Bodleian  Library,  he  might  have  avoided  some 
inaccuracies ;  he  might  have  enriched  his  notes  with  a 
greater  number  of  references ;  but  he  would  never 
have  produced  so  lively  a  picture  of  the  court,  the 
camp,  and  the  senate-house.  In  this  respect  Mr.  Fox 
and  Sir  James  Mackintosh  had  great  advantages  over 
almost  every  English  historian  who  has  written  since 
the  time  of  Burnet.  Lord  Lyttelton  had  indeed  the 
same  advantages ;  but  he  was  incapable  of  using  them. 
Pedantry  was  so  deeply  fixed  in  his  nature  that  the 
hustings,  the  Treasury,  the  Exchequer,  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  House  of  Lords,  left  him  the  same 
dreaming  schoolboy  that  they  found  him. 

When  we  compare  the  two  interesting  works  of 
which  we  have  been  speaking,  we  have  little  difficulty 
in  giving  the  preference  to  that  of  Sir  James  Mackin- 
tosh. Indeed  the  superiority  of  Mr.  Fox  to  Sir  James 
as  an  orator  is  hardly  more  clear  than  the  superiority 
of  Sir  James  to  Mr.  Fox  as  an  historian.  Mr.  Fox 
with  a  pen  in  his  hand,  and  Sir  James  on  his  legs  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  were,  we  think,  each  out  of 
his  proper  element.  They  were  men,  it  is  true,  of  far 
too  much  judgment  and  ability  to  fail  scandalously  in 
uny  undertaking  to  which  they  brought  the  whole 
power  of  their  minds.  The  history  of  James  the 
Second  will  always  keep  its  place  in  our  libraries  as 
u  valuable  book  ;  and  Sir  James  Mackintosh  succeeded 
vn  winning  and  maintaining  a  high  place  among  the 
parliamentary  speakers  of  his  time.  Yet  we  could 


26-1  SIR  JAMES*  MACKINTOSH'S 

never  read  a  page  of  Mr.  Fox's  writing,  we  could 
never  listen  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  the  speaking 
of  Sir  James,  without  feeling  that  there  was  a  con- 
stant effort,  a  tug  up  hill.  Nature,  or  habit  which 
had  become  nature,  asserted  its  rights.  Mr.  Fox  wrote 
debates.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  spoke  essays. 

As  far  as  mere  diction  was  concerned,  indeed,  Mr. 
Fox  did  his  best  to  avoid  those  faults  which  the  habit 
of  public  speaking  is  likely  to  generate.  He,  was  so 
nervously  apprehensive  of  sliding  into  some  colloquial 
incorrectness,  of  debasing  his  style  by  a  mixture  of  par- 
liamentary slang,  that  he  ran  into  the  opposite  error, 
and  purified  his  vocabulary  with  a  scrupulosity  unknown 
to  any  purist.  "  Ciceronem  Allobroga  dixit."  He 
would  not  allow  Addison,  Bolingbroke,  or  Middleton  to 
be  a  sufficient  authority  for  an  expression.  He  declared 
that  he  would  use  no  word  which  was  not  to  be  found 
in  Dryden.  In  any  other  person  we  should  have  called 
tlus  solicitude  mere  foppery  ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  our  ad- 
miration for  Mr.  Fox,  we  cannot  but  think  that  his 
extreme  attention  to  the  petty  niceties  of  language  was 
hardly  worthy  of  so  manly  and  so  capacious  an  under- 
standing. There  were  purists  of  this  kind  at  Rome ; 
and  their  fastidiousness  was  censured  by  Horace,  with 
that  perfect  good  sense  and  good  taste  which  char- 
acterize all  his  writings.  There  were  purists  of  this 
kind  at  the  time  of  the  revival  of  letters ;  and  the  two 
greatest  scholars  of  that  time  raised  then*  voices,  the  one 
from  within,  the  other  from  without  the  Alps,  against  a 
scrupulosity  so  unreasonable.  "  Carent,"  said  Politian, 
"  qua3  scribunt  isti  viribus  et  vita,  carent  actu,  carent 

effectu,  carent  indole Nisi  liber  ille  prsesto  sit 

ex  quo  quid  excerpant,  colligere  tria  verba  non  possunt. 
Horum  semper  igitur  oratio  tremula,  vacillans, 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  256 

ttifinna QUJBSO  ne  ista  superstitione  te  alliges. 

Ut  bene  currere  non  potest  qui  pedem  ponero 

studet  in  alienis  tan  turn  vestigiis,  ita  nee  bene  scribere 
qui  tanquam  Je  prsescripto  non  audet  egredi."  — 
"  Posthac,"  exclaims  Erasmus,  "  non  licebit  episcopos 
appellare  patres  revercndos,  nee  in  calce  literarum  scri- 
bere annum  a  Christo  nato,  quod  id  nusquam  facial 
Cicero.  Quid  autem  ineptius  quam,  to  to  seculo  novato, 
religione,  imperils,  magistratibus,  locorum  vocabulis, 
sedificiis,  cultu,  moribus,  non  aliter  audere  loqui  quam 
locutus  est  Cicero  ?  Si  revivisceret  ipse  Cicero,  rideret 
hoc  Ciceronianorum  genus." 

While  Mr.  Fox  winnowed  and  sifted  his  phraseology 
with  a  care  which  seems  hardly  consistent  with  the  sim- 
plicity and  elevation  of  his  mind,  and  of  which  the 
effect  really  was  to  debase  and  enfeeble  his  style,  he  was 
little  on  his  guard  against  those  more  serious  improprie- 
ties of  manner  into  which  a  great  orator  who  undertakes 
to  write  history  is  in  danger  of  falling.  There  is  about 
the  whole  book  a  vehement,  contentious,  replying  man- 
ner. Almost  every  argument  is  put  in  the  form  of  an 
interrogation,  an  ejaculation,  or  a  sarcasm.  The  writer 
seems  to  be  addressing  himself  to  some  imaginary  au- 
dience, to  be  tearing  in  pieces  a  defence  of  the  Stuarts 
which  has  just  been  pronounced  by  an  imaginary 
Tory.  Take,  for  example,  his  answer  to  Hume's  re- 
marks on  the  execution  of  Sydney ;  and  substitute  "  the 
honourable  gentleman  "  or  "  the  noble  Lord  "  for  the 
name  of  Hume.  The  whole  passage  sounds  like  a  pow- 
erful reply,  thundered  at  three  in  the  morning  from  the 
Opposition  Bench.  While  we  read  it,  we  can  almost 
fancy  that  we  see  and  hear  the  great  English  deleter 
such  as  he  has  been  described  to  us  by  the  few  who 
can  still  remember  the  Westminster  scrutiny  and  the 


250  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

Oczakow  Negotiations,  in  the  full  paroxysm  of  inspi- 
ration, foaming,  screaming,  choked  by  the  rushing  mul- 
titude of  his  words. 

It  is  true  that  the  passage  to  which  we  have  referred, 
and  several  other  passages  which  we  could  point  out, 
are  admirable  when  considered  merely  as  exhibitions  of 
mental  power.  We  at  once  recognise  in  them  that  con- 
summate master  of  the  whole  art  of  intellectual  gladia- 
torship,  whose  speeches,  imperfectly  as  they  have  been 
transmitted  to  us,  should  be  studied  day  and  night  by 
every  man  who  wishes  to  learn  the  science  of  logical 
defence.  We  find  in  several  parts  of  the  History  of 
James  the  Second  fine  specimens  of  that  which  we  con- 
ceive to  have  been  the  great  characteristic  of  Demos- 
thenes among  the  Greeks,  and  of  Fox  among  the 
orators  of  England,  reason  penetrated,  and,  if  we  may 
venture  on  the  expression,  made  red-hot  by  passion. 
But  this  is  not  the  kind  of  excellence  proper  to  history ; 
and  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  whatever  is  strik- 
ingly good  in  Mr.  Fox's  Fragment  is  out  of  place. 

With  Sir  James  Mackintosh  the  case  was  reversed. 
His  proper  place  was  his  library,  a  circle  of  men  of 
letters,  or  a  chair  of  moral  and  political  philosophy. 
He  distinguished  himself  highly  in  Parliament.  But 
nevertheless  Parliament  was  not  exactly  the  sphere  for 
him.  The  effect  of  his  most  successful  speeches  was 
small  when  compared  with  the  quantity  of  ability  and 
learning  which  was  expended  on  them.  We  could 
easily  name  men  who,  not  possessing  a  tenth  part  of 
his  intellectual  powers,  hardly  ever  address  the  House 
of  Commons  without  producing  a  greater  impression 
than  was  produced  by  his  most  splendid  and  elaborate 
orations.  His  luminous  and  philosophical  disquisition 
on  the  Reform  Bill  was  spoken  to  empty  benches 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  2cf 

Those,  indeed,  who  had  the  wit  to  keep  their  seatu, 
picked  up  hints  which,  skilfully  used,  made  the  fortune 
of  moie  than  one  speech.  But  "it  was  caviare  to  the 
general."  A'jd  even  those  Avho  listened  to  Sir  James 
with  pleasure  and  admiration  could  not  but  acknowl- 
edge that  he  rather  lectured  than  debated.  An  artist 
who  should  waste  on  a  panorama,  or  a  scene,  or  on  a 
transparency,  the  exquisite  finishing  which  we  admire 
in  some  of  the  small  Dutch  interiors,  would  not  squan- 
der his  powers  more  than  this  eminent  man  too  often 
did.  His  audience  resembled  the  boy  in  the  Heart 
of  Mid-Lothian,  who  pushes  away  the  lady's  guineas 
with  contempt,  and  insists  on  having  the  white  money. 
They  preferred  the  silver  with  which  they  were  famil- 
iar, and  which  they  were  constantly  passing  about  from 
hand  to  hand,  to  the  gold  which  they  had  never  before 
seen,  and  with  the  value  of  which  they  were  unac 
quainted. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted,  we  think,  that  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  did  not  wholly  devote  his  later  years  to 
philosophy  and  literature.  His  talents  were  not  those 
which  enable  a  speaker  to  produce  with  rapidity  a 
series  of  striking  but  transitory  impressions,  and  to 
excite  the  minds  of  five  hundred  gentlemen  at  mid- 
night, without  saying  any  thing  that  any  one  of  them 
will  be  able  to  remember  in  the  morning.  His  argu- 
ments were  of  a  very  different  texture  from  those 
which  are  produced  in  Parliament  at  a  moment's  no- 
tice, which  puzzle  a  plain  man  who,  if  he  had  them 
before  him  in  writing,  would  soon  detect  their  fallacy, 
and  which  the  great  debater  who  employs  them  for- 
gets within  half  an  hour,  and  never  thinks  of  again. 
Whatever  was  valuable  in  the  compositions  of  Sii 
•Tames  Mackintosh  was  the  ripe  fruit  of  study  and  of 


258  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

meditation.  It  was  the  same  with  his  conversation 
In  his  most  familiar  talk  there  was  no  wildness,  no 
inconsistency,  no  amusing  nonsense,  no  exaggeration 
for  the  sake  of  momentary  effect.  His  mind  was  a 
va3t  magazine,  admirably  arranged.  Every  thing  was 
there  ;  and  every  thing  was  in  its  place.  His  judg- 
ments on  men,  on  sects,  on  books,  had  been  often  and 
carefully  tested  and  weighed,  and  had  then  been  com- 
mitted, each  to  his  proper  receptacle,  in  the  most  ca- 
pacious and  accurately  constructed  memory  that  any 
human  being  ever  possessed.  It  would  have  been 
strange  indeed  if  you  had  asked  for  any  thing  that  was 
not  to  be  found  in  that  immense  storehouse.  The 
article  which  you  required  was  not  only  there.  It  was 
ready.  It  was  in  its  own  proper  compartment.  In 
a  moment  it  was  brought  down,  unpacked,  and  dis- 
played. If  those  who  enjoyed  the  privilege — for  a 
privilege  indeed  it  was — of  listening  to  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  had  been  disposed  to  find  some  fault  in 
his  conversation,  they  might  perhaps  have  observed 
that  he  yielded  too  little  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 
He  seemed  to  be  recollecting,  not  creating.  He  never 
appeared  to  catch  a  sudden  glimpse  of  a  subject  in  a 
new  light.  You  never  saw  his  opinions  in  the  making, 
btill  rude,  still  inconsistent,  and  requiring  to  be  fashioned 
by  thought  and  discussion.  They  came  forth,  like  the 
pillars  of  that  temple  in  which  no  sound  of  axes  or 
hammers  was  heard,  finished,  rounded,  and  exactly 
suited  to  their  places.  What  Mr.  Charles  Lamb  has 
said  with  so  much  humour  and  some  truth,  of  the  con- 
versation of  Scotchmen  in  general,  was  certainly  true 
of  this  eminent  Scotchman.  He  did  not  find,  but 
bring.  You  could  not  cry  halves  to  any  thing  thaf 
tamed  up  while  you  were  in  his  company. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  259 

The  intellectual  and  moral  qualities  wliich  are  most 
important  in  a  historian,  he  possessed  in  a  very  higt 
degree.  He  was  singularly  mild,  calm,  and  impartia. 
in  his  judgments  of  men,  and  of  parties.  Almost  all 
the  distinguished  writers  who  have  treated  of  English 
history  are  advocates.  Mr.  Hallam  and  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  alone  are  entitled  to  be  called  judges. 
But  the  extreme  austerity  of  Mr.  Hallam  takes  away 
something  from  the  pleasure  of  reading  his  learned, 
eloquent,  and  judicious  writings.  He  is  a  judge,  but  a 
hanging  judge,  the  Page  or  Buller  of  the  High  CourJ 
of  Literary  Justice.  His  black  cap  is  in  constant  re> 
quisition.  In  the  long  calendar  of  those  whom  he 
has  tried,  there  is  hardly  one  who  has  not,  in  spite  of 
evidence  to  character  and  recommendations  to  mercy, 
been  sentenced  and  left  for  execution.  Sir  James, 
perhaps,  erred  a  little  on  the  other  side.  He  liked  a 
maiden  assize,  and  came  away  with  white  gloves,  after 
sitting  in  Judgment  on  batches  of  the  most  notorious 
offenders.  He  had  a  quick  eye  for  the  redeeming 
parts  of  a  character,  and  a  large  toleration  for  the  in- 
firmities of  men  exposed  to  strong  temptations.  But 
this  lenity  did  not  .arise  from  ignorance  or  neglect  of 
moral  distinctions.  Though  he  allowed  perhaps  too 
much  weight  to  every  extenuating  circumstance  that 
could  be  urged  in  favour  of  the  transgressor,  he  never 
iisputed  the  authority  of  the  law,  or  showed  his  inge- 
nuity by  refining  away  its  enactments.  On  every  oc- 
casion he  showed  himself  firm  where  principles  were  in 
question,  but  full  of  charity  towards  individuals. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  this  Frag- 
ment decidedly  the  best  history  now  extant  of  the 
reign  of  James  the  Second.  It  contains  much  new 
ind  curious  information,  of  which  excellent  use  has 


260  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

been  made.  But  we  are  not  sure  that  the  book  i 
not  in  some  degree  open  to  the  charge  which  the  idle 
citizen  in  the  Spectator  brought  against  his  pudding ; 
"  Mem.  too  many  plums,  and  no  suet."  Tliere  is  per« 
haps  too  much  disquisition  and  too  little  narrative ; 
and  indeed  this  is  the  fault  into  which,  judging  from 
the  habits  of  Sir  James's  mind,  we  should  have 
thought  him  most  likely  to  fall.  What  we  assuredly 
did  not  anticipate  was,  that  the  narrative  would  bf 
better  executed  than  the  disquisitions.  We  expected 
to  find,  and  we  have  found,  many  just  delineations  oi 
character,  and  many  digressions  full  of  interest,  such 
as  the  account  of  the  order  of  Jesuits,  and  of  the  state 
of  prison  discipline  in  England  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago.  We  expected  to  find,  and  we  have  found, 
many  reflections  breathing  the  spirit  of  a  calm  and 
benignant  philosophy.  But  we  did  not,  we  own,  ex- 
pect to  find  that  Sir  James  could  tell  a  story  as  well 
as  Voltaire  or  Hume.  Yet  such  is  the  fact ;  and  if 
any  person  doubts  it,  we  would  advise  him  to  read 
the  account  of  the  events  which  followed  the  issuing 
of  King  James's  declaration,  the  meeting  of  the  clergy, 
the  violent  scene  at  the  privy  council,  the  commit- 
ment, trial,  and  acquittal  of  the  bishops.  The  most 
superficial  reader  must  be  charmed,  we  think,  by  tL' 
liveliness  of  the^  narrative.  But  no  person  who  is 
not  acquainted  with  that  vast  mass  of  intractable  ma- 
terials of  which  the  valuable  and  interesting  part  has 
been  extracted  and  condensed  can  fully  appreciate  the 
.skill  of  the  writer.  Here,  and  indeed  throughout  the 
book,  we  find  many  harsh  and  careless  expressions  which 
the  author  would  probably  have  removed  if  he  had  lived 
to  complete  his  work.  But,  in  spite  of  these  blemishes, 
we  must  say  that  we  should  find  it  difficult  to  point  out. 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  261 

n  any  modern  history,  any  passage  of  equal  length  and 
at  the  same  time  of  equal  merit.  We  find  in  it  the 
diligence,  the  accuracy,  and  the  judgment  of  Hallam, 
united  to  the  vivacity  and  the  colouring  of  Southey. 
A  history  of  England,  written  throughout  in  this 
manner,  would  be  the  most  fascinating  book  in  the 
language.  It  would  be  more  in  request  at  the  circu- 
lating libraries  than  the  last  novel. 

Sir  James  was  not,  we  think,  gifted  with  poetical 
imagination.  But  that  lower  kind  of  imagination 
which  is  necessary  to  the  historian  he  had  in  large 
measure.  It  is  not  the  business  of  the  historian  to 
create  new  worlds  and  to  people  them  with  new  races 
of  beings.  He  is  to  Homer  and  Shakspeare,  to  Dante 
and  Milton,  what  Nollekens  was  to  Canova,  or  Law- 
rence to  Michael  Angelo.  The  object  of  the  historian's 
imitation  is  not  within  him  ;  it  is  furnished  from  with- 
out. It  is  not  a  vision  of  beauty  and  grandeur  discern- 
ible only  by  the  eye  of  his  own  mind,  but  a  real  model 
which  he  did  not  make,  and  which  he  cannot  alter. 
Yet  his  is  not  a  mere  mechanical  imitation.  The  tri- 
umph of  his  skill  is  to  select  such  parts  as  may  produce 
the  effect  of  the  whole,  to  bring  out  strongly  all  the 
characteristic  features,  and  to  throw  the  light  and  shade 
in  such  a  manner  as  may  heighten  the  effect.  This 
skill,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  from  the  unfinished  work 
MOW  before  us,  Sir  James  Mackintosh  possessed  in  an 
eminent  degree. 

The  style  of  this  Fragment  is  weighty,  manly,  and 
unaffected.  There  are,  as  we  have  said,  some  expres- 
sions which  seem  to  us  harsh,  and  some  which  we  think 
inaccurate.  These  would  probably  have  been  cor- 
rected, if  Sir  James  had  lived  to  superintend  the  publi 
Cation.  We  ought  to  add  that  the  printer  has  by  no 


262  SIR  JAMES   MACKINTOSH'S 

means  done  his  duty.  One  misprint,  in  particular,  is  sc 
serious  as  to  require  notice.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  hag 
paid  a  high  and  just  tribute  to  the  genius,  the  integrity, 
and  the  courage  of  a  good  .and  great  man,  a  distin- 
guished ornament  of  English  literature,  a  fearless  cham- 
pion of  English  liberty,  Thomas  Burnet,  Master  of 
the  Charter-House,  and  author  of  that  most  eloquent 
and  imaginative  work,  the  Telluris  Theoria  Sacia, 
Wherever  the  name  of  this  celebrated  man  occurs,  it  is 
printed  "  Bennet,"  both  in  the  text  and  in  the  index, 
Tliis  cannot  be  mere  negligence.  It  is  plain  that 
Thomas  Burnet  and  his  writings  were  never  heard  of 
by  the  gentleman  who  has  been  employed  to  edite  this 
volume,  and  who,  not  content  with  deforming  Sir 
James  Mackintosh's  text  by  such  blunders,  has  prefixed 
to  it  a  bad  Memoir,  has  appended  to  it  a  bad  Continua- 
tion, and  has  thus  succeeded  in  expanding  the  volume 
into  one  of  the  thickest,  and  debasing  it  into  one  of  the 
worst  that  we  ever  saw.  Never  did  we  fall  in  with  so 
admirable  an  illustration  of  the  old  Greek  proverb, 
which  tells  us  that  half  is  sometimes  more  than  the 
whole.  Never  did  we  see  a  case  in  which  the  increase 
of  the  bulk  was  so  evidently  a  diminution  of  the  value. 

Why  such  an  artist  was  selected  to  deface  so  fine 
a  Torso,  we  cannot  pretend  to  conjecture.  We  read 
that,  when  the  Consul  Mummius,  after  the  taking  of 
Corinth,  was  preparing  to  send  to  Rome  some  works 
of  the  greatest  Grecian  sculptors,  he  told  the  packer 
that  if  they  broke  his  Venus  or  his  Apollo,  he  would 
.force  them  to  restore  the  limbs  which  should  be  want- 
ing. A  head  by  a  hewer  of  mile-stones  joined  to  a 
bosom  by  Praxiteles  would  not  surprise  or  shock  U3 
more  than  tliis  supplement. 

The  Memoir  contains  much  that  is  worth  reading 


HISTORY   OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  263 

For  it  contains  many  extracts  from  the  compositions  of 
Sir  James  Mackintosh.  But  when  we  pass  from  what 
the  biographer  has  done  with  his  scissors  to  what  he  has 
done  with  his  pen,  we  can  find  nothing  to  praise  in  liis 
work.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  intention  with 
which  he  wrote,  the  tendency  of  liis  narrative  is  to  con- 
vey the  impression  that  Sir  James  Mackintosh^  from 
interested  motives,  abandoned  the  doctrines  of  the  Vin- 
dicioe  Grallicce.  Had  such  charges  appeared  in  their 
natural  place,  we  should  leave  them  to  their  natural 
fate.  We  would  not  stoop  to  defend  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh from  the  attacks  of  fourth-rate  magazines  and 
pothouse  newspapers.  But  here  liis  own  fame  is  turned 
against  him.  A  book  of  which  not  one  copy  would 
ever  have  been  bought  but  for  his  name  in  the  title  page 
is  made  the  vehicle  of  the  imputation.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances we  cannot  help  exclaiming,  in  the  words  of 
one  of  the  most  amiable  of  Homer's  heroes, 

"Nvv  Ttf  ii>r)cii}<;  HOT  poa^of  6d7aolo 

•naciv  yap  tmafaro  fieiTiixof  eivai 
euv  '  vvv  6'  av  Qu.va.TOf  Kal  AloZpa  K.IXU.VEL." 


We  have  no  difficulty  in  admitting  that,  during  the 
ten  or  twelve  years  which  followed  the  appearance  of 
the  Vindicice  G-allicce,  the  opinions  of  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh underwent  some  change.  But  did  this  change 
pass  on  him  alone  ?  Was  it  not  common  ?  Was  it  not 
almost  universal  ?  Was  there  one  honest  friend  of  lib- 
erty in  Europe  or  in  America  whose  ardour  had  not 
been  damped,  whose  faith  in  the  high  destinies  of  man- 
kind had  not  been  shaken  ?  Was  there  one  observer  to 
whom  the  French  Revolution,  Or  revolutions  in  general, 
appeared  in  exactly  the  same  light  on  the  day  when  the 
Bastile  fell,  and  on  the  day  when  the  Girondists  were 
dragged  to  the  scaffold,  the  day  when  the.  Directoiy 


264  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

shipped  off  their  principal  opponents  for  Guiana,  or  the 
day  when  the  Legislative  Body  was  driven  from  its  hall 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  ?  We  do  not  speak  of  light- 
minded  and  enthusiastic  people,  of  wits  like  Sheridan, 
or  poets  like  Alfieri  ;  but  of  the  most  virtuous  and  in- 
telligent practical  statesmen,  and  of  the  deepest,  the 
calmest,  the  most  impartial  political  speculators  of  that 
time.  What  was  the  language  and  conduct  of  Lord 
Spencer,  of  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  of  Mr.  Grattan  ?  What 
is  the  tone  of  M.  Dumont's  Memoirs,  written  just  at  the 
close  of  the  eighteenth  century  ?  What  Tory  could 
have  spoken  with  greater  disgust  and  contempt  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  its  authors  ?  Nay,  this  writer, 
a  republican,  and  the  most  upright  and  zealous  of  repub- 
licans, has  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  Mr.  Burke's  work 
on  the  Revolution  had  saved  Europe.  The  name  of 
M.  Dumont  naturally  suggests  that  of  Mr.  Bentham. 
He,  we  presume,  was  not  ratting  for  a  place  ;  and  what 
language  did  he  hold  at  that  time  ?  Look  at  his  little 
treatise  entitled  Sophismes  Anarchiques.  In  that  trea- 
tise he  says,  that  the  atrocities  of  the  Revolution  were 
the  natural  consequences  of  the  absurd  principles  on 
which  it  was  commenced  ;  that,  while  the  chiefs  of  the 
constituent  assembly  gloried  in  the  thought  that  they 
were  pulling  down  aristocracy,  they  never  saw  that 
their  doctrines  tended  to  produce  an  evil  a  bundled 
times  more  formidable,  anarchy :  that  the  theoiy  laid 
down  in  the  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man  had,  in  a 
great  measure,  produced  the  crimes  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror  ;  that  none  but  an  eyewitness  could  imagine  the 
horrors  of  a  state  of  society  in  which  comments  on  that 
Declaration  were  put  forth  by  men  with  no  food  in  their 
oellies,  with  rags  on  their  backs,  and  pikes  in  theii 
'lands.  He  praises  the  English  Parliament  for  the  di» 


HISTORY   OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  265 

like  which  it  has  always  shown  to  abstract  reasonings, 
and  to  the  affirming  of  general  principles.  In  M. 
Dumont's  preface  to  the  Treatise  on  the  Principles  of 
Legislation,  a  preface  written  under  the  eye  of  Mr. 
Bentham,  and  published  with  his  sanction,  are  the  fol- 
lowing still  more  remarkable  expressions :  "  M.  Ben- 
tham est  bien  loin  d'attacher  une  preference  exclusive  a 
aucune  forme  de  gouvernement.  II  pense  que  la 
meilleure  constitution  pour  un  peuple  est  celle  ;\  laquelle 

U  est  accoutume Le  vice  fondamental  des 

theories  sur  les  constitutions  politiques,  c'est  de  com- 
mencer  par  attaquer  celles  qui  existent,  et  d'exciter  tout 
au  moins  des  inquietudes  et  des  jalousies  de  pouvoir. 
Une  telle  disposition  n'est  point  favorable  au  perfec- 
tionnement  des  lois.  La  seule  dpoque  ou  1'on  puisse 
entreprendre  avec  succes  des  grandes  rdformes  de  legis- 
lation, est  celle  ou  les  passions  publiques  sont  calmes,  et 
ou  le  gouvernement  jouit  de  la  stabilitd  la  plus  grande. 
L'objet  de  M.  Bentham,  en  cherchant  dans  le  vice  des 
lois  la  cause  de  la  plupart  des  maux,  a  dte  constam- 
ment  d'eloigner  le  plus  grand  de  tous,  le  bouleverse- 
ment  de  1'autorite,  les  revolutions  de  propriete  et  de 
pouvoir." 

To  so  conservative  a  frame  of  mind  had  the  excesses 
*.{'  the  French  Revolution  brought  the  most  illustrious 
reformers  of  that  time.  And  why  is  one  person  to  be 
singled  out  from  among  millions,  and  arraigned  before 
posterity  «is  a  traitor  to  his  opinions,  only  because  events 
produced  on  him  the  effect  which  they  produced  on  a 
whole  generation  ?  People  who,  like  Mr.  Brothers  in 
flie  last  generation,  and  Mr.  Percival  in  this,  have  been 
favoured  with  revelations  from  heaven,  may  be  quite 
independent  of  the  vulgar  sources  of  knowledge.  But 
such  poor  creatures  as  Mackintosh,  Dumont,  and  Ben- 

VOL.   III.  12 


266  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

tharn,  had  nothing  but  observation  and  reason  to  guide 
them ;  and  they  obeyed  the  guidance  of  observation 
and  of  reason.  How  is  it  in  physics  ?  A  traveller  falls 
in  with  a  berry  svhich  he  has  never  before  seen.  lie 
tastes  it,  and  finds  it  sweet  and  refresliing.  He  praises 
it,  and  resolves  to  introduce  it  into  his  own  country 
But  in  a  few  minutes  lie  is  taken  violently  sick ;  he  is 
convulsed ;  he  is  at  the  point  of  death.  He  of  course 
changes  his  opinion,  pronounces  this  delicious  food  a 
poison,  blames  his  own  folly  in  tasting  it,  and  cautions 
his  friends  against  it.  After  a  long  and  violent  struggle 
he  recovers,  and  finds  himself  much  exhausted  by  his 
sufferings,  but  free  from  some  chronic,  complaints  which 
had  been  the  torment  of  his  life.  He  then  changes  his 
opinion  again,  and  pronounces  this  fruit  a  very  powerful 
remedy,  which  ought  to  be  employed  only  in  extreme 
cases  and  with  great  caution,  but  which  ought  not  to  be 
absolutely  excluded  from  the  Pharmacopoeia.  And 
would  it  not  be  the  height  of  absurdity  to  call  such  a 
man  fickle  and  inconsistent,  because  he  had  repeatedly 
altered  his  judgment  ?  If  he  had  not  altered  his  judg- 
ment, would  he  have  been  a  rational  being  ?  It  was 
exactly  the  same  with  the  French  Revolution.  That 
event  was  a  new  phenomenon  in  politics.  Nothing 
that  had  gone  before  enabled  any  person  to  judge 
with  certainty  of  the  course  which  affairs  might  take. 
At  first  the  effect  was  the  reform  of  great  abuses ; 
and  honest  men  rejoiced.  Then  came  commotion, 
proscription,  confiscation,  bankruptcy,  the  assignats, 
the  maximum,  civil  war,  foreign  war,  revolutionary 
tribunals,  guillotinades,  noyades,  fusillades.  Yet  a  lit- 
tle while,  and  a  military  despotism  rose  out  of  the 
confusion,  and  menaced  the  independence  of  every 
itate  in  Europe.  And  yet  again  a  little  while,  anii 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  267 

the  old  dynasty  returned,  followed  by  a  train  of  emi- 
grants eager  to  restore  the  old  abuses.  We  have  now,  we 
think,  the  whole  before  us.  We  should  therefore  be 
justly  accused  of  levity  or  insincerity  if  our  language 
concerning  those  events  were  constantly  changing.  It  is 
our  deliberate  opimon  that  the  French  Revolution,  in 
spite  of  all  its  crimes  and  follies,  was  a  great  blessing  to 
mankind.  But  it  was  not  only  natural,  but  inevitable, 
that  those  who  had  only  seen  the  first  act  should  be  ig- 
norant of  the  catastrophe,  and  should  be  alternately 
elated  and  depressed  as  the  plot  went  on  disclosing  itself 
to  them.  A  man  who  had  held  exactly  the  same  opinion 
about  the  Revolution  in  1789,  in  1794,  in  1804,  in 
1814,  and  in  1834,  would  have  been  either  a  divinely 
inspired  prophet,  or  an  obstinate  fool.  Mackintosh 
was  neither.  He  was  simply  a  wise  and  good  man  ; 
and  the  change  which  passed  on  his  mind  was  a 
change  which  passed  on  the  mind  of  almost  every 
wise  and  good  man  in  Europe.  In  fact,  few  of  his 
contemporaries  changed  so  little.  The  rare  modera- 
tion and  calmness  of  his  temper  preserved  him  alike 
from  extravagant  elation  and  from  extravagant  de- 
spondency. He  was  never  a  Jacobin.  He  was  never 
an  Antijacobin.  His  mind  oscillated  undoubtedly ; 
but  the  extreme  points  of  the  oscillation  were  not 
very  remote.  Herein  he  differed  greatly  from  some 
persons  of  distinguished  talents  who  entered  into 
life  at  nearer  the  same  time  with  him.  Such  persons 
we  have  seen  rushing  from  one  wild  extreme  to 
another,  out-Paining  Paine,  out-Castlereaghing  Cas- 
ilereagh,  Pantisocratists,  Ultra-Tories,  heretics,  per- . 
secutors,  breaking  the  old  laws  against  sedition,  calling 
cor  new  and  sharper  laws  against  sedition,  writing 
Democratic  dramas,  writing  Laureate  odes,  panegyris- 


268  SLR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

ing  Marten,  panegyrising  Laud,  consistent  in  nothing 
but  an  intolerance  which  in  any  person  would  be  cen- 
surable, but  which  is  altogether  unpardonable  in  men 
who,  by  their  own  confession,  have  had  such  ample 
experience  of  their  own  fallibility.  We  readily  con- 
cede to  some  of  these  persons  the  praise  of  eloquence 
and  poetical  invention ;  nor  are  we  by  any  means 
disposed,  even  where  they  have  been  gainers  by  their 
conversion,  to  question  their  sincerity.  It  would  be 
most  uncandid  to  attribute  to  sordid  motives  actions 
which  admit  of  a  less  discreditable  explanation.  We 
think  that-  the  conduct  of  these  persons  has  been 
precisely  what  was  to  be  expected  from  men  who  were 
gifted  with  strong  imagination  and  quick  sensibility, 
but  who  were  neither  accurate  observers  nor  logical 
reasoners.  It  was  natural  that  such  men  should  see  in 
the  victory  of  the  third  estate  of  France  the  dawn  of 
a  new  Satumian  age.  It  was  natural  that  the  rage  of 
their  disappointment  should  be  proportioned  to  the 
extravagance  of  their  hopes.  Though  the  direction  of 
their  passions  was  altered,  the  violence  of  those  pas- 
sions was  the  same.  The  force  of  the  rebound  was 
proportioned  to  the  force  of  the  original  impulse.  The 
pendulum  swung  furiously  to  the  left,  because  it  had 
been  drawn  too  far  to  the  right. 

We  own  that  nothing  gives  us  so  high  an  idea  of 
the  judgment  and  temper  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh 
as  the  manner  in  which  he  shaped  his  course  through 
those  times.  Exposed  successively  to  two  opposite 
infections,  he  took  both  in  their  very  mildest  form. 
The  constitution  of  his  mind  was  such  that  neither 
of  the  diseases  which  wrought  such  havoc  all  round 
him  could  in  any  serious  degree,  or  for  any  great 
'ength  of  time,  derange  his  irtellectual  health.  He, 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  269 

like  every  honest  and  enlightened  man  in  Europe, 
saw  with  delight  the  great  awakening  of  the  French 
nation.  Yet  he  never,  in  the  season  of  his  warmest 
enthusiasm,  proclaimed  doctrines  inconsistent  with 
the  safety  of  property  and  the  just  authority  of  gov- 
ernments. He,  like  almost  every  other  honest  and 
enlightened  man,  was  discouraged  and  perplexed  by 
the  terrible  events  which  followed.  Yet  he  never  in 
the  most  gloomy  times  abandoned  the  cause  of  peace, 
of  liberty,  and  of  toleration.  In  that  great  convul- 
sion which  overset  almost  every  other  understanding, 
he  was  indeed  so  much  shaken  that  he  leaned  some- 
times in  one  direction  and  sometimes  in  the  other ; 
but  he  never  lost  his  balance.  The  opinions  in  which 
he  at  last  reposed,  and  to  which,  in  spite  of  strong 
temptations,  he  adhered  with  a  firm,  a  disinterested, 
an  ill-requited  fidelity,  were  a  just  mean  betAveen 
those  which  he  had  defended  with  youthful  ardour  and 
with  more  than  manly  prowess  against  Mr.  Burke, 
and  those  to  which  he  had  inclined  during  the  darkest 
and  saddest  years  in  the  history  of  modern  Europe. 
We  are  much  mistaken  if  this  be  the  picture  either 
of  a  weak  or  of  a  dishonest  mind. 

What  the  political  opinions  of  Sir  James  Mac  kin 
tosh  were  in  his  later  years  is  written  in  the  annals  of 
his  country .  Those  annals  will  sufficiently  refute  what 
the  Editor  has  ventured  to  assert  in  the  very  adver- 
tisement to  this  work.  "  Sir  James  Mackintosh,"  says 
he,  "  was  avowedly  and  emphatically  a  Whig  of  the 
Revolution :  and  since  the  agitation  of  religious  liberty 
and  parliamentary  reform  became  a  national  move- 
ment, the  great  transaction  of  1688  has  been  more 
Dispassionately,  more  correctly,  and  less  highly  esti- 
mated." If  these  words  mean  any  thing,  they  mus»« 


270  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

mean  that  the  opinions  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  con- 
cerning religious  liberty  and  parliamentary  reform  went 
no  further  than  those  of  the  authors  of  the  Revolution  ; 
in  other  words,  that  Sir  James  Mackintosh  opposed 
Catholic  Emancipation,  and  approved  of  the  old  consti- 
tution of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  allegation  is 
confuted  by  twenty  volumes  of  Parliamentary  Debates, 
nay  by  innumerable  passages  in  the  very  Fragment 
which  this  writer  has  defaced.  We  will  venture  to  say 

i/ 

that  Sir  James  Mackintosh  often  did  more  for  religious 
liberty  and  for  parliamentary  reform  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  than  most  of  those  zealots  who  are  in  the  habit 
of  depreciating  him,  have  done  or  will  do  in  the  whole 
course  of  their  lives. 

Nothing  in  the  Memoir,  or  in  the  Continuation  of 
the  History,  has  struck  us  so  much  as  the  contempt 
with  which  the  writer  thinks  fit  to  speak  of  all  things 
that  were  done  before  the  coming  in  of  the  very  last 
fashions  in  politics.  We  think  that  we  have  sometimes 
observed  a  leaning  towards  the  same  fault  in  writers  of 
a  much  higher  order  of  intellect.  We  will  therefore 
take  this  opportunity  of  making  a  few  remarks  on  an 
error  which  is,  we  fear,  becoming  common,  and  which 
appears  to  us  not  only  absurd,  but  as  pernicious  as 
almost  any  error  concerning  the  transactions  of  a  past 
age  can  possibly  be. 

We  shall  not,  we  hope,  be  suspected  of  a  bigoted 
attachment  to  the  doctrines  and  practices  of  past  gen- 
erations. Our  creed  is  that  the  science  of  government 
is  an  experimental  science,  and  that,  like  all  other 
experimental  sciences,  it  is  generally  in  a  state  of  pro- 
gression. No  man  is  so  obstinate  an  admirer  of  the 
old  times  as  to  deny  that  medicine,  surgery,  botany 
ihemistry,  engineering,  navigation,  are  better  under 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  271 

stood  now  than  in  any  former  age.  We  conceive  that 
it  is  the  same  with  political  science.  Like  those  physi- 
cal sciences  which  we  have  mentioned,  it  has  always 
been  working  itself  clearer  and  clearer,  and  depositing 
impurity  after  impurity.  There  was  a  time  when  the 
most  powerful  of  human  intellects  were  deluded  by  the 
gibberish  of  the  astrologer  and  the  alchemist;  and -just 
so  there  was  a  time  when  the  most  enlightened  and 
virtuous  statesmen  thought  it  the  first  duty  of  a  gov- 
ernment to  persecute  heretics,  to  found  monasteries, 
to  make  war  on  Saracens.  But  time  advances ;  facts 
accumulate  ;  doubts  arise.  Faint  glimpses  of  truth 
begin  to  appear,  and  shine  more  and  more  unto  the 
perfect  day.  The  highest  intellects,  like  the  tops  of 
mountains,  are  the  first  to  catch  and  to  reflect  the 
dawn.  They  are  bright,  while  the  level  below  is  still 
in  darkness.  But  soon  the  light,  which  at  first  illumi- 
nated only  the  loftiest  eminences,  descends  on  the 
plain  and  penetrates  to  the  deepest  valley.  First  come 
hints,  then  fragments  of  systems,  then  defective  sys- 
tems, then  complete  and  liarmonious  systems.  The 
sound  opinion,  held  for  a  time  by  one  bold  speculator, 
becomes  the  opinion  of  a  small  minority,  of  a  strong 
minority,  of  a  majority  of  mankind.  Thus,  the  great 
progress  goes  on,  till  schoolboys  laugh  at  the  jargon 
which  imposed  on  Bacon,  till  country  rectors  condemn 
the  illiberality  and  intolerance  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 

Seeing  these  tilings,  seeing  that,  by  the  confession  of 
the  most  obstinate  enemies  of  innovation,  our  nice  has 
hitherto  been  almost  constantly  advancing  in  knowl- 
edge, and  not  seeing  any  reason  to  believe  that,  pre- 
cisely at  the  point  of  time  at  which  we  came  into  the 
ivorld,  a  change  took  place  in  the  faculties  of  the 
i:  mind,  or  in  the  mode  of  discovering  truth,  wa 


272  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

are  reformers  :  we  are  on  the  side  of  progress.  Froiu 
tlie  great  advances  winch  European  society  lias  mad>i, 
during  the  last  four  centuries,  in  every  species  of 
knowledge,  we  infer,  not  that  there  is  no  more  icoin 
for  improvement,  but  that,  in  every  science  which 
deserves  the  name,  immense  improvements  may  be 
confidently  expected. 

But  the  very  considerations  which  lead  us  to  lock 
forward  with  sanguine  hope  to  the  future  prevent  us 
from  looking  back  with  contempt  on  the  past.  We  do 
not  flatter  ourselves  .with  the  notion  that  we  have  at- 
tained perfection,  and  that  no  more  truth  remains  to 
be  found.  We  believe  that -we  are  wiser  than  our  an- 
cestors. We  believe,  also,  that  our  posterity  will  be 
wiser  than  we.  It  would  be  gross  injustice  in  our 
grandchildren  to  talk  of  us  with  contempt,  merely  be- 
cause they  may  have  surpassed  us  ;  to  call  AVatt  a  fool, 
because  mechanical  powers  may  be  discovered  which 
may  supersede  the  use  of  steam  ;  to  deride  the  efforts 
which  have  been  made  in  our  time  to  improve  the  dis- 
cipline of  prisons,  and  to  enlighten  the  minds  of  the 
poor,  because  future  philanthropists  may  devise  better 
places  of  confinement  than  Mr.  Bentham's  Panopticon, 
and  better  places  of  education  than  Mr.  Lancaster's 
Schools.  As  we  would  have  our  descendants  judge 
us,  so  ought  we  to  judge  our  fathers.  In  order  to  form 
a  correct  estimate  of  their  merits,  we  ought  to  place 
ourselves  in  their  situation,  to  put  out  of  our  minds,  for 
a  time,  all  that  knowledge  which  they,  however  eager 
in  the  pursuit  of  truth,  could  not  have,  and  which  we, 
however  negligent  we  may  have  been,  could  not  help 
having.  It  was  not  merely  difficult,  but  absolutely 
impossible,  for  the  best  and  greatest  of  men,  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  to  be  what  a  very  commonplace  pei> 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  278 

pon  in  oui  days  may  easily  be,  and  indeed  must  neces- 
sarily be.  But  it  is  too  much  that  the  benefactors  of 
mankind,  after  having  been  reviled  by  the  dvinces  of 
their  own  generation  for  going  too  far,  should  be  re- 
viled by  the  dunces  of  the  next  generation  for  not  going 
far  enough. 

o 

The  truth  lies  between  two  absurd  extremes.  On 
one  side  is  the  bigot  who  pleads  the  wisdom  of  our  an- 
cestors as  a  reason  for  not  doing  what  they  in  our 
place  would  be  the  first  to  do ;  who  opposes  the  Re- 
form Bill  because  Lord  Somcrs  did  not  see  the  neces- 
sity of  Parliamentary  Reform  ;  who  would  have  op- 
posed the  Revolution  because  Ridley  and  Cranmer 
professed  boundless  submission  to  the  royal  preroga- 
tive ;  and  who  would  have  opposed  the  Reformation 
because  the  Fitzwalters  and  Mareschals,  whose  seals 
are  set  to  the  Great  Charter,  were  devoted  adherents 
to  the  Church  of  Rome.  On  the  other  side  is  the 
sciolist  who  speaks  with  scorn  of  the  Great  Charter, 
because  it  did  not  reform  the  Church ;  of  the  Refor- 
mation, because  it  did  not  limit  the  prerogative ;  and 
of  the  Revolution,  because  it  did  not  purify  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  former  of  these  errors  we  have 
often  combated,  and  shall  always  be  ready  to  combat. 
The  latter,  though  rapidly  spreading,  has  not,  we 
think,  yet  come  under  our  notice.  The  former  error 
bears  directly  on  practical  questions,  and  otstructs 
useful  reforms.  It  may,  therefore,  seem  to  be,  and 
probably  is,  the  more  mischievous  of  the  two.  But 
the  latter  is  equally  absurd  ;  it  is  at  least  equally  symp- 
tomatic of  a  shallow  understanding  and  an  unamiable 

O 

Vemper  :  and,  if  it  should  ever  become  general,  it  will, 
we  are  satisfied,  produce  very  prejudicial  effects.  Its 
endency  is  to  deprive  the  benefactors  of  mankind  of 


274  SIR  JAMES  MACKIXTOSH'3 

their  honest  fame,  and  to  put  the  best  and  the  worst  men 
of  past  times  on  the  same  level.  The  author  of  a  great 
reformation  is  almost  always  unpopular  in  his  own  age 
He  generally  passes  his  lite  in  disquiet  and  danger.  It 
is  therefore  for  the  interest  of  the  human  race  that  the 
memory  of  such  men  should  be  had  in  reverence,  and 
that  they  should  be  supported  against  the  scorn  and 
hatred  of  their  contemporaries  by  the  hope  of  leaving 
a  great  and  imperishable  name.  To  go  on  the  forlorn 
hope  of  truth  is  a  service  of  peril.  Who  will  under- 
take it,  if  it  be  not  also  a  service  of  honour  ?  It  is  easy 
enough,  after  the  ramparts  are  carried,  to  find  men  to 
plant  the  flag  on  the  highest  tower.  The  difficulty  is 
to  find  men  who  are  ready  to  go  first  into  the  breach  ; 
and  it  would  be  bad  policy  indeed  to  insult  their  re- 
mains because  they  fell  in  the  breach,  and  did  not  live 
to  penetrate  to  the  citadel. 

Now  here  we  have  a  book  which  is  by  no  means  a 
favourable  specimen  of  the  English  literature  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  a  book  indicating  neither  exten- 
sive knowledge  nor  great  powers  of  reasoning.  And, 
if  we  were  to  judge  by  the  pity  with  which  the  writer 
speaks  of  the  great  statesmen  and  philosophers  of  a 
former  age,  we  should  guess  that  he  was  the  author  of 
the  most  original  and  important  inventions  in  po- 
litical science.  Yet  not  so :  for  men  who  are  able  to 
make  discoveries  are  generally  disposed  to  make  al- 
lowances. Men  who  are  eagerly  pressing  forward  in 
pursuit  of  truth  are  grateful  to  every  one  who  hag 
cleared  an  inch  of  the  way  for  them.  It  is,  for  the 
most  part,  the  man  who  has  just  capacity  enough  to 
pick  up  and  repeat  the  commonplaces  which  are 
fashionable  in  his  own  time  who  looks  with  disdain  on 
the  very  intellects  to  which  it  is  owing  that  those 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  275 

commonplaces  are  not  still  considered  as  startling 
paradoxes  or  damnable  heresies.  This  writer  is  just 
the  man  Avho,  if  he  had  lived  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, would  have  devoutly  believed  that  the  Papists 
burned  London,  who  would  have  swallowed  the  whole 
of  Oates's  story  abovit  the  forty  thousand  soldiers,  dis- 
guised as  pilgrims,  who  were  to  meet  in  Gallicia,  and 
sail  thence  to  invade  England,  who  would  have  carried 
a  Protestant  flail  under  his  coat,  and  who  would  have 
been  angry  if  the  story  of  the  warmingpan  had  been 
questioned.  It  is  quite  natural  that  such  a  man  should 
speak  with  contempt  of  the  great  reformers  of  that 
time,  because  they  did  not  know  some  things  which  he 
never  would  have  known  but  for  the  salutary  effects 
of  their  exertions.  The  men  to  whom  we  owe  it  that 
we  have  a  House  of  Commons  are  sneered  at  because 
they  did  not  suffer  the  debates  of  the  House  to  be  pub- 
lished. The  authors  of  the  Toleration  Act  are  treated 
as  bigots,  because  they  did  not  go  the  whole  length  of 
Catholic  Emancipation.  Just  so  we  have  heard  a 
baby,  mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  its  father,  cry  out, 
"  How  much  taller  I  am  than  Papa  !  " 

This  gentleman  can  never  want  matter  for  pride,  if 
he  finds  it  so  easily.  He  may  boast  of  an  indisputable 
superiority  to  all  the  greatest  men  of  all  past  ages. 
He  can  read  and  write  :  Homer  probably  did  not  know 
a  letter.  He  has  been  taught  that  the  earth  goes 

o  o 

round  the  sun  :  Archimedes  held  that  the  sun  went 
round  the  earth.  He  is  aware  that  there  is  a  place 
called  New  Holland :  Columbus  and  Gama  went  te 
tl  eir  graves  in  ignorance  of  the  fact.  He  has  heard 
oi  the  Georgium  Sidus :  Newton  was  ignorant  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  planet.  He  is  acquainted  with  the 
Use  of  gunpowder :  Hannibal  and  Caesar  won  their 


276  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

victories  with  sword  and  spear.  We  submit,  however, 
that  this  is  not  the  way  in  which  men  are  to  he  esti- 
mated. We  submit  that  a  wooden  spoon  of  our  day 
would  not  be  justified  in  calling  Galileo  and  Napier 
blockheads,  because  they  never  heard  of  the  differentia] 
calculus.  We  submit  that  Caxton's  press  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  rude  as  it  is,  ought  to  be  looked  at 
with  quite  as  much  respect  as  the  best  constructed 
machinery  that  ever,  in  our  time,  impressed  the  clear- 
est type  on  the  finest  paper.  Sydenham  first  discov- 
ered that  the  cool  regimen  succeeded  best  in  cases  of 
small-pox.  By  tins  discovery  he  saved  the  lives  of 
hundreds  of  thousands  ;  and  we  venerate  his  memory 
for  it,  though  he  never  heard  of  inoculation.  Lady 
Mary  Montague  brought  inoculation  into  use  ;  and  we 
respect  her  for  it,  though  she  never  heard  of  vaccina- 
tion. Jenner  introduced  vaccination  ;  we  admire  him 
for  it,  and  we  shall  continue  to  admire  him  for  it,  al- 
though some  still  safer  and  more  agreeable  preservative 
should  be  discovered.  It  is  thus  that  we  ought  to 
judge  of  the  events  and  the  men  of  other  times.  They 
were  behind  us.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  But  the, 
question  with  respect  to  them  is  not  where  they  were, 
but  which  way  they  were  going.  Were  their  faces  set 
in  the  right  or  in  the  wrong  direction  ?  Were  they  in 
the  front  or  in  the  rear  of  their  generation  ?  Did  they 
exert  themselves  to  help  onward  the  great  movement 
of  the  human  race,  or  to  stop  it  ?  This  is  not  charity, 
but  simple  justice  and  common  sense.  It  is  the  funda- 
mental law  of  the  world  in  which  we  live  that  truth 
shall  grow,  first  the  blade,  then  the  ear,  after  that  the 
full  corn  in  the  ear.  A  person  who  complains  of  the 
men  of  1688  for  not  having  been  men  of  1835  might 
just  as  well  complain  of  a  projectile  for  describing 


HISTOllY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  277 

a  parabola,  or  of  quicksilver  for  being  heavier  than 
water. 

Undoubtedly  we  ought  to  look  at  ancient  transac- 
tions by  the  light  of  modem  knowledge.  Undoubtedly 
it  is  among  the  first  duties  of  a  historian  to  point  out 
the  faults  of  the  eminent  men  of  former  generations. 
There  are  no  errors  which  are  so  likely  to  be  drawn 
into  precedent,  and  therefore  none  which  it  is  so  neces- 
sary to  expose,  as  the  errors  of  persons  who  have  a  just 
title  to  the  gratitude  and  admiration  of  posterity.  In 
politics,  as  in  religion,  there  are  devotees  who  show 
their  reverence  for  a  departed  saint  by  converting  his 
tomb  into  a  sanctuary  for  crime.  •  Receptacles  of  wick- 
edness are  suffered  to  remain  undisturbed  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  church  which  glories  in  the  relics  of 
some  martyred  apostle.  Because  he  was  merciful,  hia 
bones  give  security  to  .assassins.  Because  he  was  chaste, 
the  precinct  of  his  temple  is  filled  with  licensed  stews. 
Privileges  of  an  equally  absurd  kind  have  been  set  up 
against  the  jurisdiction  of  political  philosophy.  Vile 
abuses  cluster  thick  round  every  glorious  event,  round 
every  venerable  name ;  and  this  evil  assuredly  calls  for 
vigorous  measures  of  literary  police.  But  the  proper 
course  is  to  abate  the  nuisance  without  defacing  the 
shrine,  to  drive  out  the  gangs  of  thieves  and  prostitutes 
without  doing  foul  and  cowardly  wrong  to  the  ashes  of 
the  illustrious  dead. 

In  this  respect,  two  historians  of  our  own  time  may 
be  proposed  as  models,  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Mr. 
Mill.  Differing  in  most  things,  in  this  they  closely  re- 
semble each  other.  Sir  James  is  lenient.  Mr.  Mill  is 
severe.  But  neither  of  them  ever  omits,  in  the  appor- 
tioning of  praise  and  of  censure,  to  make  ample  allow- 
ance for  the  state  of  political  science  and  political  moral- 


278  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

ity  in  former  ages.  In  the  work  before  us,  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  speaks  with  just  respect  of  the  Whigs  of  the 
Revolution,  while  he  never  fails  to  condemn  the  conduct 
of  that  party  towards  the  members  of  the  Church  of 
Rome.  His  doctrines  are  the  liberal  and  benevolent 
doctrines  of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  he  never  for- 
gets that  the  men  whom  he  is  describing  were  men  of 
the  seventeenth  century. 

From  Mr.  Mill  this  indulgence,  or,  to  speak  more 
properly,  this  justice,  was  less  to  be  expected.  That 
gentleman,  in  some  of  his  works,  appears  to  consider 
politics  not  as  an  experimental,  and  therefore  a  progres- 
sive science,  but  as  a  science  of  which  all  the  difficulties 
may  be  resolved  by  short  synthetical  arguments  drawn 
from  truths  of  the  most  vulgar  notoriety.  Were  this 
opinion  well  founded,  the  people  of  one  generation 
would  have  little  or  no  advantage  -over  those  of  another 
generation.  But  though  Mr.  Mill,  in .  some  of  his 
Essays,  has  been  thus  misled,  as  we  conceive,  by  a  fond- 
ness for  neat  and  precise  forms  of  demonstration,  it 
would  be  gross  injustice  not  to  admit  that,  in  his  His- 
tory, he  has  employed  a  very  different  method  of  inves- 
tigation with  eminent  ability  and  success.  We  know 
no  writer  who  takes  so  much  pleasure  in  the  truly  use- 
ful, noble,  and  philosophical  employment  of  tracing  the 
progress  of  sound  opinions  from  their  embryo  state  to 
their  full  maturity.  He  eagerly  culls  from  old  de- 
spatches and  minutes  every  expression  in  which  he  can 
discern  the  imperfect  germ  of  any  great  truth  which 
has  since  been  fully  developed.  He  never  fails  to  be- 
stow praise  on  those  who,  though  far  from  coming  up 
to  his  standard  of  perfection,  yet  rose  in  a  small  degree 
above  the  common  level  of  their  contemporaries.  It 
is  thus  that  the  annals  of  past  times  ought  to  be  writ 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  27  9 

ten.     It  is  thus,  especially,  that  the  annals  of  our  own 
country  ought  to  be  written. 

The  history  of  England  is  emphatically  the  history 
of  progress.  It  is  the  history  of  a  constant  move* 
ment  of  the  public  mind,  of  a  constant  change  in 
the  institutions  of  a  great  society.  We  see  that 
society,  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century,  in  a 
state  more  miserable  than  the  state  in  which  the 
most  degraded  nations  of  the  East  now  are.  We  see 
it  subjected  to  the  tyranny  of  a  handful  of  armed 
foreigners.  We  see  a  strong  distinction  of  caste  sepa- 
rating the  victorious  Norman  from  the  vanquished 
Saxon.  We  see  the  great  body  of  the  population  in  a 
state  of  personal  slavery.  We  see  the  most  debasing 
and  cruel  superstition  exercising  boundless  dominion 
over  the  most  elevated  and  benevolent  minds.  We  see 
the  multitude  sunk  in  brutal  ignorance,  and  the  studious 
few  engaged  in  acquiring  what  did  not  deserve  the 
name  of  knowledge.  In  the  course  of  seven  centuries 
the  wretched  and  degraded  race  have  become  the 
greatest  and  most  highly  civilised  people  that  ever  the 
world  haw,  have  spread  their  dominion  over  every 
quarter  of  the  globe,  have  scattered  the  seeds  of  mighty 
empires  and  republics  over  vast  continents  of  which  no 
dim  intimation  had  ever  reached  Ptolemy  or  Strabo, 
have  created  a  maritime  power  which  would  annihilate 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  navies  of  Tyre,  Athens, 
Carthage,  Venice,  and  Genoa  together,  have  carried 
the  science  of  healing,  the  means  of  locomotion  and 
correspondence,  every  mechanical  art,  eveiy  manufac- 
ture, every  thing  that  promotes  the  convenience  of  life, 
to  a  perfection  which  our  ancestors  would  have  thought 
magical,  have  produced  a  literature  which  may  boast 
of  woiks  not  inferior  to  the  noblest  which  Greece  has 


£30  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

bequeathed  to  us,  have  discovered  the  laws  which 
regulate  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  have  specu- 
lated with  exquisite  subtilty  on  the  operations  of  the 
human  mind,  have  been  the  acknowledged  leaders  o*' 
the  human  race  in  the  career  of  political  improvement. 
The  history  of  England  is  the  history  of  this  great 
change  in  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  state  of 
the  inhabitants  of  our  own  island.  There  is  much 
amusing  and  instructive  episodical  matter ;  but  this  is 
the  main  action.  To  us,  we  will  own,  nothing  is  so 
interesting  and  delightful  as  to  contemplate  the  steps 
by  which  the  England  of  Domesday  Book,  the  England 
of  the  Cm-few  and  the  Forest  Laws,  the  England  of 
crusaders,  monks,  schoolmen,  astrologers,  serfs,  outlaws, 
became  the  England  which  we  know  and  love,  the 
classic  ground  of  liberty  and  philosophy,  the  school  of 
all  knowledge,  the  mart  of  all  trade.  The  Charter  of 
Henry  Beauclerk,  the  Great  Charter,  the  first  assem- 
bling of  the  House  of  Commons,  the  extinction  of 
personal  slavery,  the  separation  from  the  See  of  Rome, 
the  Petition  of  Right,  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act,  the 
Revolution,  the  establishment  of  the  liberty  of  unli- 
censed printing,  the  abolition  of  religious  disabilities,  the 
reform  of  the  representative  system,  all  these  seem  to 
us  to  be  the  successive  stages  of  one  great  revolution  ; 
nor  can  we  fully  comprehend  any  one  of  these  memo- 
rable events  unless  we  look  at  it  in  connection  with 
those  which  preceded,  and  with  those  which  followed  it. 
Each  of  those  great  and  ever  memorable  straggles, 
Saxon  against  Norman,  Villein  against  Lord,  Protes- 
tant against  Papist,  Roundhead  against  Cavalier,  Dis- 
senter against  Churchman,  Manchester  against  Old  Sa- 
rum,  was,  in  its  own  order  and  season,  a  struggle,  on  the 
cesuh  of  which  were  staked  the  dearest  interests  of  the 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  281 

human  race  ;  and  every  man  who,  in  the  contest-  which, 
in  his  time,  divided  our  country,  distinguished  himself 
on  the  right  side,  is  entitled  to  our  gratitude  and  respect: 

Whatever  the  editor  of  this  book  may  think,  those 
persons  who  estimate  most  correctly  the  value  of  the 
improvements  which  have  recently  been  made  in  our 
institutions,  are  precisely  the  persons  who  are  least 
disposed  to  speak  slightingly  of  what  was  done  in 
1688.  Such  men  consider  the  Revolution  as  a  reform, 
imperfect  indeed,  but  still  most  beneficial  to  the  En- 
glish people  and  to  the  human  race,  as  a  reform  which 
has  been  the  fruitful  parent  of  reforms,  as  a  reform, 
the  happy  effects  of  which  are  at  this  moment  felt,  not 
only  throughout  our  own  country,  but  in  half  the  mon- 
archies of  Europe,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  forests  of 
Ohio.  We  shall  be  pardoned,  we  hope,  if  we  call  the 
attention  of  our  readers  to  the  causes  and  to  the  conse- 
quences of  that  great  event. 

We  said  that  the  history  of  England  is  the  history 
of  progress  ;  and,  when  AVC  take  a  comprehensive  view 
of  it,  it  is  so.  But,  when  examined  in  small  separate 
portions,  it  may  with  more  propriety  be  called  a  his- 
tory of  actions  and  re-actions.  We  have  often  thought 
that  the  motion  of  the  public  mind  in  our  country 
resembles  that  of  the  sea  when  the  tide  is  rising.  Each 
successive  wave  rushes  forward,  breaks,  and  rolls  back  ; 
but  the  great  flood  is  steadily  coming  in.  A  person 
who  looked  on  the  waters  only  for  a  moment  might 
fancy  that  they  were  retiring.  A  person  who  looked 
on  them  only  for  five  minutes  might  fancy  that  they 
were  rushing  capriciously  to  and  fro.  But  when  lie 
keeps  his  eye  on  them  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
sees  one  sea-mark  disappear  after  another,  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  doubt  of  the  general  direction  in  which 


282  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

the  ocean  is  moved.  Just  such  lias  been  the  course  of 
events  in  England.  In  the  history  of  the  national 
mind,  which  is,  in  truth,  the  history  of  the  nation,  we 
must  carefully  distinguish  between  that  recoil  which 
regularly  follows  every  advance  and  a  great  genera] 
ebb.  If  we  take  short  intervals,  if  we  compare  164C 
and  1600,  1680  and  1685,  1708  and  1712,  1782  and 
1794,  we  find  a  retrogression.  But  if  we  take  centu- 
ries, if,  for  example,  we  compare  1794  with  1660  or 
with  1685,  we  cannot  doubt  in  which  direction  society 
is  proceeding. 

The  interval  which  elapsed  between  the  Restoration 

and  the  Revolution  naturally  divides  itself  into  three 

periods.     The  first  extends  from  1660  to  1678,  the 

Nsecond  from  1678  to  1681,  the  third  from  1681  to  1688. 

In  1660  the  whole  nation  was  mad  with  loyal  ex- 
citement. If  we  had  to  choose  a  lot  from  among  all 
the  multitude  of  those  which  men  have  drawn  since 
the  beginning  of  the  world,  we  would  select  that  of 
Charles  the  Second  on  the  day  of  his  return.  He 
was  in  a  situation  in  which  the  dictates  of  ambition 
coincided  with  those  of  benevolence,  in  which  it  was 
easier  to  be  virtuous  than  to  be  wicked,  to  be  loved, 
than  to  be  hated,  to  earn  pure  and  imperishable  glory 
than  to  become  infamous.  For  once  the  road  of  good- 
ness was  a  smooth  descent.  He  had  done  nothing  to 
merit  the  affection  of  his  people.  But  they  had  paid 
him  in  advance  without  measure.  Elizabeth,  after  the 
destruction  of  the  Armada,  or  after  the  abolition  of 
monopolies,  had  not  excited  a  thousandth  part  of  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  the  young  exile  was  welcomed 
home.  He  was  not,  like  Lewis  the  Eighteenth,  im- 
posed on  his  subjects  by  foreign  conquerors  ;  nor  did 
he,  like  Lewis  the  Eighteenth,  come  back  to  a  country 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  283 

K-hich  had  undergone  a  complete  change.  The  house 
af  Bourbon  was  placed  in  Paris  as  a  trophy  of*  the 
victory  of  the  European  confederation.  The  return 
of  the  ancient  princes  was  inseparably  associated  in 
the  public  mind  with  the  cession  of  extensive  prov- 
inces, with  the  payment  of  an  immense  tribute,  with 
the  devastation  of  flourishing  departments,  with  the 
occupation  of  the  kingdom  by  hostile  armies,  with  the 
emptiness  of  those  niches  in  which  the  gods  of  Athens 
and  Home  had  been  the  objects  of  a  new  idolatry,  with 
the  nakedness  of  those  Avails  on  which  the  Transfigura- 
tion had  shone  with  light  as  glorious,  as  that  which 
overhung  Mount  Tabor.  They  came  back  to  a  land 
in  which  they  could  recognise  nothing.  The  seven 
sleepers  of  the  legend,  who  closed  their  eyes  when  the 
Pagans  were  persecuting  the  Christians,  and  woke 
when  the  Christians  were  persecuting  each  other,  did 
not  find  themselves  in  a  world  more  completely  new  to 
them.  Twenty  years  had  done  the  work  of  twenty 
generations.  Events  had  come  thick.  Men  had  lived 
fast.  The  old  institutions  and  the  old  feelings  had  been 
torn  up  by  the  roots.  There  was  a  new  Church 
founded  and  endowed  by  the  usurper ;  a  new  nobility 
whose  titles  were  taken  from  fields  of  battle,  disastrous 
to  the  ancient  line  ;  a  new  chivalry  whose  crosses  had 
been  won  by  exploits  which  had  seemed  likely  to  make 
the  banishment  of  the  emigrants  perpetual.  A  new 
.*ode  was  administered  bv  a  new  ma«-istracv.  A  new 

«/  O  «/ 

body  of  proprietors  held  the  soil  by  a  new  tenure.  The 
most  ancient  local  distinctions  had  been  effaced.  The 
most  familiar  names  had  become  obsolete.  There  was 
no  longer  a  Normandy  or  a  Burgundy,  a  Brittany  or  a 
Guienne.  The  France  of  Lewis  the  Sixteenth  had 
oas.sed  away  as  completely  as  one  of  the  Preadamite 


284  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

worlds.  Its  fossil  remains  might  now  and  then  excite 
curiosity.  But  it  -tvas  as  impossible  to  put  life  into  the 
old  institutions  as  to  animate  the  skeletons  which  are 
embedded  in  the  depths  of  primeval  strata.  It  was  as 
absurd  to  think  that  France  could  again  be  placed 
under  the  feudal  system,  as  that  our  globe  could  be 
overrun  by  mammoths.  The  revolution  in  the  laws 
and  in  the  form  of  government  was  but  an  outward 
sign  of  that  mightier  revolution  which  had  taken  place 
in  the  heart  and  brain  of  the  people,  and  which  affected 
every  transaction  of  life,  trading,  farming,  studying, 
marrying,  and  giving  in  marriage.  The  French  whom 
the  emigrant  prince  had  to  govern  were  no  more  like 
the  French  of  his  youth,  than  the  French  of  his  youth 
were  like  the  French  of  the  Jaquerie.  He  came  back 
to  a  people  who  knew  not  him  nor  his  house,  to  a  peo- 
ple to  whom  a  Bourbon  was  no  more  than  a  Carlovin- 
gian  or  a  Merovingian.  He  might  substitute  the  white 
flag  for  the  tricolor ;  he  might  put  lilies  in  the  place  of 
bees  ;  he  might  order  the  initials  of  the  Emperor  to  be 
carefully  effaced.  But  he  could  turn  his  eyes  nowhere 
adthout  meeting  some  object  which  reminded  him  that 
be  was  a  stranger  in  the  palace  of  his  fathers.  He  re- 
turned to  a  country  in  which  even  the  passing  traveller 
is  every  moment  reminded  that  there  has  lately  been  a 
great  dissolution  and  reconstruction  of  the  social  sys- 
tem. To  win  the  hearts  of  a  people,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, would  have  been  no  easy  task  even  for 
lleniy  the  Fourth. 

In  the  English  Revolution  the  case  was  altogether 
different.  Charles  was  not  imposed  on  his  countrymen, 
Gut  sought  by  them.  His  restoration  was  not  attended 
by  any  circumstance  which  could  inflict  a  wound  on 
,heir  national  pride.  Insulated  by  our  goographica. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  28<J 

position,  insulated  by  our  character,  we  had  fought  ou» 
our  quarrels  and  effected  our  reconciliation  among  our- 
selves. Our  great  internal  questions  had  never  been 
mixed  up  with  the  still  greater  question  of  national 
independence.  The  political  doctrines  of  the  Round- 
heads were  not,  like  those  of  the  French  philosophers, 
doctrines  of  universal  application.  Our  ancestors,  for 
the  most  part,  took  their  stand,  not  on  a  general  theory, 
but  on  the  particular  constitution  of  the  realm.  They 
asserted  the  rights,  not  of  men,  but  of  Englishmen. 
Their  doctrines  therefore  were  not  contagious ;  and, 
had  it  been  otherwise,  no  neighbouring  country  was 
then  susceptible  of  the  contagion.  The  language  in 
which  our  discussions  were  generally  conducted  was 
scarcely  known  even  to  a  single  man  of  letters  out  of 
the  islands.  Our  local  situation  made  it  almost  im- 
possible that  we  should  effect  great  conquests  on  the 
Continent.  The  kings  of  Europe  had,  therefore,  no 
reason  to  fear  that  their  subjects  would  follow  the 
example  of  the  English  Puritans,  and  looked  with 
indifference,  perhaps  with  complacency,  on  the  death 
of  the  monarch  and  the  abolition  of  the  monarchy. 
Clarendon  complains  bitterly  of  their  apathy.  But  we 
believe  that  this  apathy  was  of  the  greatest  service  to 
the  royal  cause.  If  a  French  or  Spanish  army  had 
invaded  England,  and  if  that  army  had  been  cut  to 
pieces,  as  we  have  no  doubt  that  it  would  have  been, 
on  the  first  day  on  which  it  came  face  to  face  with  the 
soldiers  of  Preston  and  Dunbar,  with  Colonel-Fi^ht- 

O 

the-good-Fight,  and  Captain  Smite-them-hip-and-thigh, 
the  House  of  Cromwell  would  probably  now  have  been 
reigning  in  England.  The  nation  would  have  for- 
gotten all  the  misdeeds  of  the  man  who  had  cleared 
;he  soil  of  foreign  invaders. 


286  SIR  JAMES  MACKDsTOSH'9 

Happily  for  Charles,  no  European  state,  even  when 
at  war  with  the  Commonwealth,  chose  to  bind  up  its 
cause  with  that  of  the  wanderers  who  were  playing  in 
the  garrets  of  Paris  and  Cologne  at  being  princes  ami 
chancellors.  Under  the  administration  of  Cromwell, 
England  was  more  respected  and  dreaded  than  any 
power  in  Christendom  ;  and,  even  under  the  ephemeral 
governments  which  followed  his  death,  no  foreign  state- 
ventured  to  treat  her  with  contempt.  Thus  Charles 
came  back,  not  as  a  mediator  between  his  people  and  a 
victorious  enemy,  but  as  a  mediator  between  internal 
factions.  He  found  the  Scotch  Covenanters  and  the 
Irish  Papists  alike  subdued.  He  found  Dunkirk  and 
Jamaica  added  to  the  empire.  He  was  heir  to  the  con- 
quests and  to  the  influence  of  the  able  usurper  who  had 
excluded  him. 

The  old  government  of  England,  as  it  had  been  far 
milder  than  the  old  government  of  France,  had  been 
far  less  violently  and  completely  subverted.  The  na- 
tional institutions  had  been  spared,  or  imperfectly  erad- 
icated. The  laws  had  undergone  little  alteration.  The 
tenures  of  the  soil  were  still  to  be  learned  from  Little- 
ton and  Coke.  The  Great  Charter  was  mentioned 
with  as  much  reverence  in  the  parliaments  of  the  Com- 
monwealth as  in  those  of  any  earlier  or  of  any  later 
age.  A  new  Confession  of  Faith  and  a  new  ritual  had 
been  introduced  into  the  church.  But  the  bulk  of  the 
ecclesiastical  property  still  remained.  The  colleges  still 
bcld  their  estates.  The  parson  still  received  his  tithes. 
J'he  Lords  had,  at  a  crisis  of  great  excitement,  been 
excluded  by  military  violence  from  their  House ;  but 
they  retained  their  titles  and  an  ample  share  of  the  pub- 
lic veneration.  When  a  nobleman  made  his  appearance 
m  the  House  of  Commons  he  was  received  with  cere 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  287 

tnonious  respect.  Those  few  Peers  who  consented  to 
assist  ut  the  inauguration  of  the  Protector  were  placed 
next  to  himself,  and  the  most  honourable  offices  of  the 
day  were  assigned  to  them.  We  learn  from  the  debates 
of  Richard's  Parliament  how  strong  a  hold  the  old 
Aristocracy  had  on  the  affections  of  the  people.  One 
member  of  the  House  of  Commons  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that,  unless  their  Lordships  were  peaceably  restored, 
the  country  might  soon  be  convulsed  by  a  war  of  the 
Barons.  There  was  indeed  no  great  party  hostile  to  the 
Upper  House.  There  was  nothing  exclusive  in  the 
constitution  of  that  body.  It  was  regularly  recruited 
from  among  the  most  distinguished  of  the  country  gen- 
tlemen, the  lawyers,  and  the  clergy.  The  most  power- 
ful nobles  of  the  century  which  preceded  the  civil  war, 
the  Duke  of  Somerset,  the  Duke  of  Northumberland, 
Lord  Seymour  of  Sudeley,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  Lord 
Burleigh,  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, the  Earl  of  Strafford,  had  all  been  commoners, 
and  had  all  raised  themselves,  by  courtly  arts  or  by 
parliamentary  talents,  not  merely  to  seats  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  but  to  the  first  influence  in  that  assembly. 
Nor  had  the  general  conduct  of  the  Peers  been  such  as 
to  make  them  unpopular.  They  had  not,  indeed,  in 
opposing  arbitrary  measures  shown  so  much  eagerness 
tind  pertin  icity  as  the  Commons.  But  still  they  had 
opposed  those  measures.  They  had,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  discontents,  a  common  interest  with  the  people, 
If  Charles  had  succeeded  in  his  scheme  of  governing 
without  parliaments,  the  consequence  of  the  Peers 
would  have  been  grievously  diminished.  If  he  had 
>een  able  to  raise  taxes  by  his  own  authority,  the  estates 
<»f  the  Peers  would  have  been  as  much  at  his  mercy  as 
of  the  merchants  or  the  fanners.  If  he  had  oh. 


288  SIK  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

tained  the  power  of  imprisoning  liis  subjects  at  his 
pleasure,  a  Peer  run  far  greater  risk  of  incurring  the 
royal  displeasure,  and  of  being  accommodated  with 
apartments  in  the  Tower,  than  any  city  trader  or 
country  squire.  Accordingly  Charles  found  that  the 
Great  Council  of  Peers  which  he  convoked  at  York 
would  do  nothing  for  him.  In  the  most  useful  reforms 
which  were  made  during  the  first  session  of  the  Long 
Parliament,  the  Peers  concurred  heartily  with  the  Lower 
House ;  and  a  large  and  powerful  minority  of  the  Eng- 
lish nobles  stood  by  the  popular  side  through  the  first 
years  of  the  war.  At  Edgehill,  Newbury,  Marston, 
and  Naseby,  the  armies  of  the  Parliament  were  com- 
manded by  members  of  the  aristocracy.  It  was  not 
forgotten  that  a  Peer  had  imitated  the  example  of  Hamp- 
den  in  refusing  the  payment  of  the  ship-money,  or  that 
a  Peer  had  been  among  the  six  members  of  the  legisla- 
ture whom  Charles  illegally  impeached. 

Thus  the  old  constitution  of  England  was  without 
difficulty  reestablished  ;  and  of  all  the  parts  of  the  old 
constitution  the  monarchical  part  was,  at  the  time, 
dearest  to  the  body  of  the  people.  It  had  been  inju- 
diciously depressed,  and  it  was  in  consequence  unduly 
exalted.  From  the  day  when  Charles  the  First  became 
a  prisoner  had  commenced  a  reaction  in  favour  of  his 
person  and  of  his  office.  From  the  day  wh^n  the  axe 
fell  on  his  neck  before  the  windows  of  his  palace,  that 
reaction  became  rapid  and  violent.  At  the  Restora- 
'.ion  it  had  attained  such  a  point  that  it  could  go  no  fur- 
ther. The  people  were  ready  to  place  at  the  mercy 
of  their  Sovereign  all  their  most  ancient  and  precious 
rights.  The  most  servile  doctrines  were  publicly 
avowed.  The  most  moderate  and  constitutional  oppo- 
sition was  condemned.  Resistance  was  spoken  of  witt 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  289 

more  horror  than  any  crime  which  a  human  being 
can  commit.  The  Commons  were  more  eager  than 
the  King  himself  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the  royal 
house  ;  more  desirous  than  the  bishops  themselves  to 
restore  the  church  ;  more  ready  to  give  money  than 
the  ministers  to  ask  for  it.  They  abrogated  the  excel- 
lent law  passed  in  the  first  session  of  the  Long .  Parlia- 
ment, with  the  general  consent  of  all  honest  men,  to 
insure  the  frequent  meeting  of  the  great  council  of  the 
nation.  They  might  probably  have  been  induced  to 
go  further,  and  to  restore  the  High  Commission  and 
the  Star  Chamber.  All  the  contemporary  accounts 
represent  the  nation  as  in  a  state  of  hysterical  excite- 
ment, of  drunken  joy.  Iri^  the  immense  multitude 
which  crowded  the  beach  at  Dover,  and  bordered  the 
road  along  which  the  King  travelled  to  London,  there 
was  not  one  who  was  not  weeping.  Bonfires  blazed. 
Bells  jingled.  The  streets  were  thronged  at  night  by 
boon-companions,  who  forced  all  the  passers-by  to  swal- 
low on  bended  knees  brimming  glasses  to  the  health  of 
Ms  Most  Sacred  Majesty,  and  the  damnation  of  Red- 
nosed  Noll.  That  tenderness  to  the  fallen  which  has, 
through  many  generations,  been  a  marked  feature  of 
the  national  character,  was  for  a  time  hardly  discerni- 
ble. All  London  crowded  to  shout  and  laugh  round 
the  gibbet  where  hung  the  rotting  remains  of  a  prince 
who  had  made  England  the  dread  of  the  world,  who 
,jad  been  the  chief  founder  of  her  maritime  greatness 
and  of  her  colonial  empire,  who  had  conquered  Scot- 
.and  and  Ireland,  who  had  humbled  Holland  and 
Spain,  the  terror  of  whose  name  had  been  as  a  guard 
round  every  English  traveller  in  remote  countries,  and 
';ound  every  Protestant  congregation  in  the  heart  of 
Catholic  empires.  When  some  of  those  brave  and  hon 

VOL.  III.  13 


290  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

est  though  misguided  men  who  had  sat  in  judgment  on 
their  King  were  dragged  on  hurdles  to  a  death  of  pro- 
longed torture,  their  last  prayers  were  interrupted  by 
the  hisses  and  execrations  of  thousand.-;. 

Such  was  England  in  1660.  In  1678  the  whole 
face  of  things  had  changed.  At  the  former  of  those 
epochs-  eighteen  years  of  commotion  had  made  the 
majority  of  the  people  ready  to  buy  repose  at  any  pi  ice. 
At  the  latter  epoch  eighteen  years  of  misgovernment 
had  made  the  same  majority  desirous  to  obtain  security 
for  their  liberties  at  any  risk.  The  fury  of  their  re- 
turning loyalty  had  spent  itself  in  its  first  outbreak. 
In  a  very  few  months  they  had  hanged  and  half-hanged, 
quartered  and  embowelled  enough  to  satisfy  them.  The 
Roundhead  party  seemed  to  be  not  merely  overcome, 
but  too  much  broken  and  scattered  ever  to  rally  again. 
Then  commenced  the  reflux  of  public  opinion.  The 
nation  began  to  find  out  to  what  a  man  it  had  in- 
trusted without  conditions,  all  its  dearest  interests,  on 
what  a  man  it  had  lavished  all  its  fondest  affection. 
On  the  ignoble  nature  of  the  restored  exile,  adversity 
had  exhausted  all  her  discipline  in  vain.  He  had  one 
immense  advantage  over  most  other  princes.  Though 
born  in  the  purple,  he  was  far  better  acquainted  with 
the  vicissitudes  of  life  and  the  diversities  of  character 
than  most  of  his  subjects.  He  had  known  restraint, 
danger,  penury,  and  dependence.  He  had  often  suf- 
fered from  ingratitude,  insolence,  and  treachery.  lie 
had  receive/I  many  signal  proofs  of  faitliful  and  heroic 
attachment,  He  had  seen,  if  ever  man  saw,  both  sides 
of  human  nature.  But  only  one  side  remained  in  his 
memory.  He  had  learned  only  to  despise  and  to  distrust 
his  species,  to  consider  integrity  in  men,  and  modesty 
Cr»  women,  as  mere  acting  ;  nor  did  he  think  it  vrcrth 


HISTORY  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  291 

tvliile  to  keep  his  opinion  to  himself.  He  was  inca- 
pable of  friendship ;  yet  he  was  perpetually  led  bv 
favourites  without  being  in  the  smallest  degree  duped 
by  them.  He  knew  that  their  regard  to  his  interests 
was  all  simulated ;  but  from  a  certain  easiness  which 
had  no  connection  with  humanity,  he  submitted,  half- 
laughing  at  himself,  to  be  made  the  tool  of  any  woman 
whose  person  attracted  him,  or  of  any  man  whose  tattle 
diverted  him.  He  thought  little  and  cared  less  about 
religion.  He  seems  to  have  passed  his  life  in  dawdling 
suspense  between  Hobbism  and  Popery.  He  was 
crowned  in  his  youth  with  the  Covenant  in  his  hand  ; 
he  died  at  last  with  the  Host  sticking  in  his  throat ; 
and,  during  most  of  the  intermediate  years,  was  occu- 
pied in  persecuting  both  Covenanters  and  Catholics. 
He  was  not  a  tyrant  from  the  ordinary  motives.  He 
valued  power  for  its  own  sake  little,  and  fame  still  less. 
He  does  not  appear  to  have  been  vindictive,  or  to  have 
found  any  pleasing  excitement  in  cruelty.  What  he 
wanted  was  to  be  amused,  to  get  through  the  twenty- 
four  hours  pleasantly  without  .sitting  down  to  dry  busi- 
ness. Sauntering  was,  as  Sheffield  expresses  it,  the 
true  Sultana  Queen  of  his  Majesty's  affections.  A 
sitting  in  council  would  have  been  insupportable  to  him 
if  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  had  not  been  there  to  make 
mouths  at  the  Chancellor.  It  has  been  said,  and  is 
highly  probable,  that  in  his  exile  he  was  quite  disposed 
to  sell  his  rights  to  Cromwell  for  a  good  round  sum. 
To  the  last,  his  only  quarrel  with  his  Parliaments  was 
that  they  often  gave  him  trouble,  and  would  not  always 
give  him  money.  If  there  was  a  person  for  whom  he 
felt  a  real  regard,  that  person  was  his  brother.  If  there 
<vas  a  point  about  which  he  really  entertained  a  scruple 
of  conscience  or  cf  honour,  that  point  was  tho  descent 


292  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

of  the  crown.  Yet  he  was  willing  to  consent  to  tliG 
Exclusion  Bill  for  six  hundred  thousand  pounds  ;  and 
the  negotiation  was  broken  off  only  because  he  insisted 
on  being  paid  beforehand.  To  do  him  justice,  hia 
temper  was  good  ;  his  manners  agreeable  ;  his  natural 
talents  above  mediocrity.  But  he  was  sensual,  frivo- 
lous, false,  and  cold-hearted,  beyond  almost  any  prince 
of  whom  history  makes  mention. 

Under  the  government  of  such  a  man,  the  English 
people  could  not  be  long  in  recovering  from  the  intoxi- 
cation of  loyalty.  They  were  then,  as  they  are  still,  a 
brave,  proud,  and  high-spirited  race,  unaccustomed  to 
defeat,  to  shame,  or  to  servitude.  The  splendid  ad- 
ministration of  Oliver  had  taught  them  to  consider 
their  country  as  a  match  for  the  greatest  empires  of 
the  earth,  as  the  first  of  maritime  powers,  as  the  head 
of  the  Protestant  interest.  Though,  in  the  day  of 
their  affectionate  enthusiasm,  they  might  sometimes 
extol  the  royal  prerogative  in  terms  which  would  have 
better  become  the  courtiers  of  Aurungzebe,  they  were 
not  men  whom  it  was  quite  safe  to  take  at  their  word. 
They  were  much  more  perfect  in  the  theory  than  in 
the  practice  of  passive  obedience.  Though  they  might 
deride  the  austere  manners  and  scriptural  phrases  of 
the  Puritans  they  were  still  at  heart  a  religious  people. 
The  majority  saw  no  great  sin  in  field-sports,  stage- 
plays,  promiscuous  dancing,  cards,  fairs,  starch,  or  false 
hair.  But  gross  profaneness  and  licentiousness  were 
regarded  with  general  horror  ;  and  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion was  held  iu  utter  detestation  by  nine  tenths  of  the 
middle  class. 

Such  was  the  nation  which,  awaking  from  its  -rap- 
tirous  trance,  found  itself  sold  to  a  foreign,  a  despotic, 
ft  Popish  court,  defeated  on  its  own  seas  and  rivers 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  293 

by  a  state  of  far  inferior  resources,  and  placed  undei 
the  rule  of  pandars  and  buffoons.  Our  ancestors  sa\v 
the  best  and  ablest  divines  of  the  age  turned  out  of 
their  benefices  by  hundreds.  They  saw  the  prisons 
filled  with  men  guilty  of  no  other  crime  than  that  of 
worshipping  God  according  to  the  fashion  generally 
prevailing  throughout  Protestant  Europe.  They  saw 
a  Popish  Queen  on  the  throne,  and  a  Popish  heir  or. 
the  steps  of  the  throne.  They  saw  unjust  aggression 
followed  by  feeble  war,  and  feeble  war  ending  in  dis- 
graceful peace.  They  saw  a  Dutch  fleet  riding  tri- 
umphant in  the  Thames.  They  saw  the  Triple  Alli- 
ance broken,  the  Exchequer  shut  up,  the  public  credit 
shaken,  the  arms  of  England  employed,  in  shameful 
subordination  to  France,  against  a  country  which 
seemed  to  be  the  last  asylum  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty.  They  saw  Ireland  discontented,  and  Scotland 
in  rebellion.  They  saw,  meantime,  Whitehall  swarm- 
ing with  sharpers  and  courtesans.  They  saw  harlot 
after  harlot,  and  bastard  after  bastard,  not  only  raised 
to  the  highest  honours  of  the  peerage,  but  supplied  out 
of  the  spoils  of  the  honest,  industrious,  and  ruined 
public  creditor,  with  ample  means  of  supporting  the 
new  dignity.  The  government  became  more  odious 
every  day.  Even  in  the  bosom  of  that  very  House 
of  Commons  which  had  been  elected  by  the  nation  in 
the  ecstasy  of  its  penitence,  of  its  joy,  and  of  its  hope, 
an  opposition  sprang  up  and  became  powerful.  Loy- 
alty which  had  been  proof  against  all  the  disasters  of 
the  civil  war,  which  had  survived  the  routs  of  Nascby 
and  Worcester,  which  had  never  flinched  from  seques- 
tration and  exile,  which  the  Protector  could  never  in- 
timidate or  seduce,  began  to  fail  in  this  last  and  hard- 
est trial.  The  storm  had  long  been  gathering.  At 


294  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

length  it  burst  with  a  fury  which  threatened  the  whole 
frame  of  society  with  dissolution. 

When  the  general  election  of  January,  1079,  took 
place,  the  nation  had  retraced  the  path  which  it  had 
been  describing  from  1640  to  1600.  It  was  again  in 
the  same  mood  in  which  it  had  been  when,  after  twelve 
years  of  misgovernment,  the  Long  Parliament  assem- 
bled. In  every  part  of  the  country,  the  name  of 
courtier  had  become  a  by-word  of  reproach.  The;  old 
warriors  of  the  Covenant  again  ventured  out  of  those 
retreats  in  which  they  had,  at  the  time  of  the  Restora- 
tion, hidden  themselves  from  the  insults  of  the  tri- 
umphant Malignants,  and  in  which,  during  twenty 
years,  they  had  preserved  in  full  vigour 

"  The  unconquerable  will 
And  study  of  revenge,  immortal  hate, 
With  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield, 
And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome." 

Then  were  again  seen  in  the  streets  faces  which 
called  up  strange  and  terrible  recollections  of  the 
days  when  the  saints,  with  the  high  praises  of  God 
in  their  mouths,  and  a  two-edged  sword  in  their 
hands,  had  bound  kings  with  chains,  and  nobles  with 
links  of  iron.  Then  were  again  heard  voices  which 
had  shouted  "  Privilege "  by  the  coach  of  Charles  I. 
in  the  time  of  his  tyranny,  and  had  called  for  "  Jus- 
tice "  in  Westminster  Hall  on  the  day  of  his  trial.  It 
has  been  the  fashion  to  represent  the  excitement  of 
this  period  as  the  effect  of  the  Popish  plot.  To  us  it 
seems  clear  that  the  Popish  plot  was  rather  the  effect 
than  the  cause  of  the  general  agitation.  It  was  not 
the  disease,  but  a  symptom,  though,  like  many  other 
Symptoms,  it  aggravated  the  severity  of  the  disease. 
lu  1600  or  1661  it  would  have  been  utterly  out  of 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  295 

tlie  power  of  sucli  men  as  Gates  or  Beclloe  to  give 
any  serious  disturbance  to  the  Government.  They 
would  have  been  laughed  at,  pilloried,  well  pelted, 
soundly  whipped,  and  speedily  forgotten.  In  1678  or 
1079  there  would  have  been  an  outbreak,  If  those  men 
had  never  been  born.  For  years  things  had  been 
steadily  tending  to  such  a  consummation.  Society 
was  one  vast  mass  of  combustible  matter.  No  mass  so 
vast  and  so  combustible  ever  waited  long  for  a  spark. 

Rational  men,  we  suppose,  are  now  fully  agreed 
that  by  far  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of 
Oates's  story  was  a  pure  fabrication.  It  is  indeed 
highly  probable  that,  during  his  intercourse  with  the 
Jesuits,  he  may  have  heard  much  wild  talk  about  the 
best  means  of  reestablishing  the  Catholic  religion  in 
England,  and  that  from  some  of  the  absurd  day- 
dreams of  the  zealots  with  whom  he  then  associated 
he  may  have  taken  hints  for  his  narrative.  But  we 
do  not  believe  that  he  was  privy  to  any  thing  which 
deserved  the  name  of  conspiracy.  And  it  is  quite 
certain  that,  if  there  be  any  small  portion  of  truth  in 
his  evidence,  that  portion  is  so  deeply  buried  in  false- 
hood that  no  human  skill  can  now  effect  a  separation. 
We  must  not,  however,  forget,  that  we  see  his  story 
by  the  light  of  much  information  which  his  contem- 
poraries did  not  at  first  possess.  We  have  nothing  to 
nay  for 'the  witnesses,  but  something  in  mitigation  to 
offer  on  behalf  of  the  public.  We  own  that  the  credu- 
lity which  the  nation  showed  on  that  occasion  seems  to 
us,  though  censurable  indeed,  yet  not  wholly  inex- 
cusable. 

Our  ancestors  knew,  from  tlie  experience  of  several 
generations  at  home  and  abroad,  how  restless  and  en- 
.roaching  was  the  disposition  of  the  Churcr.  of  Rome, 


296  SIR  JAMES   MACKINTOSH'S 

The  heir-apparent  of  the  crown  was  a  bigoted  mem« 
her  of  that  church.  The  reigning  King  seemed  far 
more  inclined  to  show  favour  to  that  church  than  to 
the  Presbyterians.  He  was  the  intimate  ally,  or 
rather  the  hired  servant,  of  a  powerful  King,  who 
had  already  given  proofs  of  his  determination  to 
tolerate  within  his  dominions  no  other  religion  than 
that  of  Rome.  The  Catholics  had  begun  to  talk  a 
bolder  language  than  formerly,  and  to  anticipate  the 
restoration  of  their  worship  in  all  its  ancient  dignity 
and  splendour.  At  this  juncture,  it  is  rumoured  that 
a  Popish  plot  has  been  discovered.  A  distinguished 
Catholic  is  arrested  on  suspicion.  It  appears  that  he 
has  destroyed  almost  all  his  papers.  A  few  letters, 
however,  have  escaped  the  flames ;  and  these  letters 
are  found  to  contain  much  alarming  matter,  strange 
expressions  about  subsidies  from  France,  allusions  to 
a  vast  scheme  which  would  "  give  the  greatest  blow 
to  the  Protestant  religion  that  it  had  ever  received," 
and  which  "  would  utterly  subdue  a  pestilent  heresy." 
It  was  natural  that  those  who  saw  these  expressions, 
in  letters  which  had  been  overlooked,  should  suspect 
that  there  was  some  horrible  villany  in  those  which 
had  been  carefully  destroyed.  Such  was  the  feeling 
of  the  House  of  Commons :  "  Question,  question, 
Coleman's  letters !  "  was  the  cry  which  drowned  the 
voices  of  the  minority. 

Just  after  the  discovery  of  these  papers,  a  magistrate 
who  had  been  distinguished  by  his  independent  spirit, 
and  who  had  taken  the  deposition  bf  the  informer,  is 
found  murdered,  under  circumstances  which  make  it 
idmost  incredible  that  he  should  have  fallen  either  by 
cobbers  or  by  his  own  hands.  Many  of  our  readers  can 
"emember  the  state  of  London  just  after  the  murder? 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  297 

of  Mar  and  Williamson,  the  terror  which  was  on  every 
face,  the  careful  barring  of  doors,  the  providing  of 
blunderbusses  and  watchmen's  rattles.  We  know  of  a 
shopkeeper  who  on  that  occasion  sold  three  hundred 
rattles  in  about  ten  hours.  Those  who  remember  that 
panic  may  be  able  to  form  some  notion  of  the  state  of 
England  after  the  death  of  Godfrey.  Indeed,  we  must 
say  that,  after  having  read  and  weighed  all  the  evidence 
now  extant  on  that  mysterious  subject,  we  incline  to 
the  opinion  that  he  was  assassinated,  and  assassinated  by 
Catholics,  not  assuredly  by  Catholics  of  the  least  weight 
or  note,  but  by  some  of  those  crazy  and  vindictive  fa- 
natics who  may  be  found  in  every  large  sect,  and  who 
are  peculiarly  likely  to  be  found  in  a  persecuted  sect. 
Some  of  the  violent  Cameronians  had  recently,  under 
similar  exasperation,  committed  similar  crimes. 

It  was  natural  that  there  should  be  a  panic  ;  and  it 
was  natural  that  the  people  should,  in  a  panic,  be  un- 
reasonable and  credulous.  It  must  be  remembered  also 
that  they  had  not  at  first,  as  we  have,  the  means  of 
comparing  the  evidence  which  was  given  on  different 
trials.  They  were  not  aware  of  one  tenth  part  of  the 
contradictions  and  absurdities  which  Gates  had  com- 
mitted. The  blunders,  for  example,  into  which  he  fell 
before  the  Council,  his  mistake  about  the  person  of  Don 
John  of  Austria,  and  about  the  situation  of  the  Jesuits' 
College  at  Paris,  were  not  publicly  known.  He  was  a 
oad  man  ;  but  the  spies  and  deserters  by  whom  govern- 
ments are  informed  of  conspiracies  are  generally  bad 
men.  His  story  was  strange  ana  romantic  ;  but  it  was 
not  more  strange  or  romantic  than  a  well-authenticated 
Popish  plot,  which  some  few  people  then  living  might 
"emember,  the  Gunpowder  treason.  Oates's  account 
of  the  burning  of  London  was  in  itself  not  more  im- 


I 
298  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

probable  tlian  the  project  of  blowing  up  King,  Lords, 
and  Commons,  a  project  which    had   not    only  been 
entertained  by  very  distinguished  Catholics,  but  which 
had  very  narrowly  missed  of  success.     As  to  the  design 
on  the  King's  person,  all  the  world  knew  that,  within 
a  century,  two  kings  of  France  and  a  prince  of  Orange 
had  been  murdered  by  Catholics,  purely  from  religious 
enthusiasm,  that  Elizabeth  had  been  in  constant  danger 
of  a  similar  fate,  and  that  such  attempts,  to  say  the 
least,  had  not  been  discouraged  by  the  highest  authority 
of  the  Church  of  Rome.     The  characters  of  some  of 
the  accused  persons  stood  high  ;  but  so  did  that  of  An- 
thony Babington,  and  that  of  Everard  Digby.     Those 
who  suffered  denied  their  guilt  to  the  last ;  but  no  per- 
sons versed  in  criminal  proceedings  would  attach  any 
importance  to  this  circumstance.     It  was  well  known 
also  that  the  most  distinguished  Catholic  casuists  had 
written  largely  in  defence  of  regicide,  of  mental  reser- 
vation and  of  equivocation.     It  was  not  quite  impossi- 
ble that  men  whose  minds  had  been  nourished  with  the 
writings  of  such  casuists  might  think  themselves  justi- 
fied in  denying  a  charge  which,  if  acknowledged,  would 
bring  great  scandal  on  the  Church.     The  trials  of  the 
accused  Catholics  Were  exactly  like  all  the  state  trials 
of  those  days ;  that  is  to  say,  as  infamous  as  they  could 
be.     They  were  neither  fairer  nor  less  fair  than  those 
of  Algernon  Sydney,   of  Rosewell,  of  Cornish,  of  all 
the  unhappy  men,  in  short,  whom  a  predominant  party 
brought  to  what  was  then  facetiously  called  justice. 
Till  the  Revolution  purified  our  institutions  and  our 
manners,  a  state-trial  was  merely  a  murder  preceded  by 
the  uttering  of  certain  gibberish  and  the  performance 
->f  certain  mummeries. 

The   Opposition   had   now  the  great  body  of  thi 


HISTORY  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  299 

nation  with  them.  Thrice  the  King  dissolved  the 
Parliament ;  and  thrice  the  constituent  body  sent  him 
back  representatives  fully  determined  to  keep  strict 
watch  on  all  his  measures,  and  to  exclude  his  brother 
from  the  throne.  Had  the  character  of  Charles  re- 
sembled that  of  his  father,  this  intestine  discord  would 
infallibly  have  ended  in  a  civil  war.  Obstinacy  and 
passion  would  have  been  his  ruin.  His  levity  and 
apathy  were  his  security.  He  resembled  one  of  those 
light  Indian  boats  which  are  safe  because  they  are 
pliant,  which  yield  to  the  impact  of  every  wave,  and 
which  therefore  bound  without  danger  through  a  surf 
in  which  a  vessel  ribbed  with  heart  of  oak  would  in- 
evitably perish.  The  only  thing  about  which  his 
mind  was  unalterably  made  up  was  that,  to  use  hia 
own  phrase,  he  would  not  go  on  his  travels  again  for 
any  body  or  for  any  thing.  His  easy,  indolent  behav 
iour  produced  all  the  effects  of  the  most  artful  policy. 
He  suffered  things  to  take  their  course  ;  and  if  Achit-o- 
phel  had  been  at  one  of  his  ears,  and  Machiavel  at  the 
other,  they  could  have  given  him  no  better  advice  than 
to  let  things  take  their  course.  He  gave  way  to  the 
violence  of  the  movement,  and  waited  for  the  corre- 
sponding violence  of  the  rebound.  He  exhibited  liim- 
self  to  his  subjects  in  the  interesting  character  of  an 
oppressed  king,  who  was  ready  to  do  any  thing  to 
please  them,  and  who  asked  of  them  in  return,  only 
some  consideration  for  his  conscientious  scruples  and 
for  his  feelings  of  natural  affection,  who  was  ready  to 
accept  any  ministers,  to  grant  any  guarantees  to  pub- 
lic liberty,  but  who  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to 
lake  away  his  brother's  birthright.  Nothing  more  was 
necessary.  He  had  to  deal  with  a  people  whose  noble 
weakness  it  has  always  been  not  to  press  too  hardly  on 


800  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

the  vanquished,  with  a  people  the  lowest  and  most 
brutal  of  whom  cry  "  Shame  ! "  if  they  see  a  man 
struck  when  he  is  on  the  ground.  The  resentment 
which  the  nation  had  felt  towards  the  Court  began  to 
abate  as  soon  as  the  Court  was  manifestly  unable  to 
offer  any  resistance.  The  panic  which  Godfrey's 
death  had  excited  gradually  subsided.  Every  clay 
brought  to  light  some  new  falsehood  or  contradiction 
in  the  stories  of  Gates  and  Bedloe.  The  people  were 
glutted  with  the  blood  of  Papists,  as  they  had,  twenty 
years  before,  been  glutted  with  the  blood  of  regicides. 
When  the  first  sufferers  in  the  plot  were  brought  to 
the  bar,  the  witnesses  for  the  defence  were  in  danger 
of  being  torn  in  pieces  by  the  mob.  Judges,  jurors, 
and  spectators  seemed  equally  indifferent  to  justice, 
and  equally  eager  for  revenge.  Lord  Stafford,  the 
last  sufferer,  was  pronounced  not  guilty  by  a  large 
minority  of  his  peers  ;  and  when  he  protested  his  inno- 
cence on  the  scaffold,  the  people  cried  out,  "  God  bless 
you,  my  lord ;  we  believe  you,  my  lord."  The  at- 
tempt to  make  a  son  of  Lucy  Waters  King  of  Eng- 
land was  alike  offensive  to  the  pride  of  the  nobles  and 
to  the  moral  feeling  of  the  middle  class.  The  old  Cav- 
alier party,  the  great  majority  of  the  landed  gentry, 
the  clergy  and  the  universities  almost  to  a  man,  began 
to  draw  together,  and  to  form  in  close  array  round  the 
throne. 

A  similar  reaction  had  begun  to  take  place  in  favour 
of  Charles  the  First  during  the  second  session  of  the 
Long  Parliament ;  and,  if  that  prince  had  been  honest 
or  sagacious  enough  to  keep  himself  strictly  within  the 
limits  of  the  law,  we  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that 
ae  would  in  a  few  months  have  found  himself  at  least 
*&  powerful  as  his  best  friends,  Lord  Falkland,  Cul- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  301 

peper,  or  HyJe,  would  have  wished  to  see  him.  By 
illegally  impeaching  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition,  and 
by  making  in  person  a  wicked  attempt  on  the  House 
of  Commons,  he  stopped  and  turned  back  that  tide  of 
loyal  feeling  which  was  just  beginning  to  run  strongly. 
The  son,  quite  as  little  restrained  by  law  or  by  honour 
as  the  father,  was,  luckily  for  himself,  a  man  of  a 
lounging,  careless  temper,  and,  from  temper,  we  be- 
lieve, rather  than  from  policy,  escaped  that  great  error 
which  cost  the  father  so  dear.  Instead  of  trying  to 
pluck  the  fruit  before  it  was  ripe,  he  lay  still  till  it  fell 
mellow  into  his  very  mouth.  If  he  had  arrested  Lord 
Shaftesbury  and  Lord  Russell  in  a  manner  not  war- 
ranted by  law,  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  would  have 
ended  his  life  in  exile.  He  took  the  sure  course.  He 
employed  only  his  legal  prerogatives,  and  he  found 
them  amply  sufficient  for  his  purpose. 

During  the  first  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  his 
reign,  he  had  been  playing  the  game  of  his  enemies. 
From  1678  to  1681,  his  enemies  had  played  his  game. 
They  owed  their  power  to  his  misgovernment.  He 
owed  the  recovery  of  his  power  to  their  violence. 
The  great  body  of  the  people  came  back  to  him  after 
their  estrangement  with  impetuous  affection.  He  had 
scarcely  been  more  popular  when  he  landed  on  the 
coast  of  Kent  than  when,  after  several  yeai's  of  re- 
straint and  humiliation,  he  dissolved  his  last  Parliament. 

Nevertheless,  while  this  flux  and  reflux  of  opinion 
went  on,  the  cause  of  public  liberty  was  steadily  gain- 
ing. There  had  been  a  great  reaction  in  favour  of  the 
throne  at  the  Restoration.  Biit  the  Star-Chamber,  the 
High  Commission,  the  Ship-money,  had  forever  disap- 
peared. There  was  now  another  similar  reaction. 
But  the  Habeas-Corpus  Act  had  been  passed  during 


802  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

the  short  predominance  of  the '  Opposition,  and  it  was 
not  repealed. 

The  King,  however,  supported  as  he  was  by  the  na- 
tion, was  quite  strong  enough  to  inflict  a  terrible  re- 
venge on  the  party  which  had  lately  held  him  in  bond- 
age. In  1G81  commenced  the  third  of  those  periods 
into  which  we  have  divided  the  history  of  England 
from  the  Restoration  to  the  Revolution.  During  this 
period  a  third  great  reaction  took  place.  The  excesses 
of  tyranny  restored  to  the  cause  of  liberty  the  hearts 
which  had  been  alienated  from  that  cause  by  the  ex- 
cesses of  faction.  In  1681,  the  King  had  almost  his  en- 
emies at  his  feet.  In  1688,  the  King  was  an  exile  in  a 
strange  land. 

The  whole  of  that  machinery  which  had  lately  been 
in  motion  against  the  Papists  was  now  put  in  motion 
against  the  Whigs,  browbeating  judges,  packed  juries, 
lying  witnesses,  clamorous  spectators.  The  ablest  chief 
of  the  party  fled  to  a  foreign  country  and  died  there. 
The  most  virtuous  man  of  the  party  was  beheaded. 
Another  of  its  most  distinguished  members  preferred 
a  voluntary  death  to  the  shame  of  a  public  execution. 
The  boroughs  on  which  the  government  could  not  de- 
pend were,  by  means  of  legal  quibbles,  deprived  of 
their  charters  ;  and  their  constitution  was  remodelled 
in  such  a  manner  as  almost  to  insure  the  return  of 
representatives  devoted  to  the  Court.  All  parts  of 
the  kingdom  emulously  sent  up  the  most  extravagant 
assurances  of  the  love  which  they  bore  to  their  sover- 
eign, and  of  the  abhorrence  with  which  they  regarded 
those  who  questioned  the  divine  origin  or  the  boundless 
extent  of  his  power.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say 
that,  in  this  hot  competition  of  bigots  and  slaves,  the 
University  of  Oxford  had  the  unquestioned  preemi- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  303 

/ 

Hence.  The  gloiy  of  being  farther  behind  the  age 
than  any  other  portion  of  the  British  people,  is  one 
which  that  learned  body  acquired  early,  and  has  never 
lost. 

Charles  died,  and  his  brother  came  to  the  throne  ; 
but,  though  the  person  of  the  sovereign  was  changed, 
the  love  and  awe  with  which  the  office  was  regarded 
were  undiminished.  Indeed,  it  seems  that,  of  the  two 
princes,  James  was,  in  spite  of  his  religion,  rather  the 
favourite  of  the  High  Church  party.  He  had  been 
specially  singled  out  as  the  mark  of  the  Whigs  ;  and 
this  circumstance  sufficed  to  make  him  the  idol  of  the 
Tories.  He  called  a  parliament.  The  loyal  gentry 
of  the  counties  and  the  packed  voters  of  the  remodelled 
boroughs  gave  him  a  parliament  such  as  England  had 
not  seen  for  a  century,  a  parliament  beyond  all  com- 
parison the  most  obsequious  that  ever  sat  under  a  prince 
of  the  House  of  Stuart.  One  insurrectionary  move- 
ment, indeed,  took  place  in  England  and  another  in 
Scotland.  Both  were  put  down  with  case,  and  pun- 
ished with  tremendous  severity.  Even  after  that 
bloody  circuit,  which  will  never  be  forgotten  while  the 
English  race  exists  in  any  part  of  the  globe,  no  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Commons  ventured  to  whisper 
even  the  mildest  censure  on  Jeffreys.  Edmund  Waller, 
emboldened  by  his  great  age  and  his  high  reputation, 
attacked  the  cruelty  of  the  military  chiefs ;  and  this  is 
the  brightest  part  of  his  long  and  checkered  public  life. 
But  even  Waller  did  not  venture  to  arraign  the  still 
more  odious  cruelty  of  the  Chief  Justice.  It  is  hardly 
too  much  to  say  that  James,  at  that  time,  had  little 
reason  to  envy  the  extent  of  authority  possessed  by 
Lewis  the  Fourteenth. 

By  what  means  this  vast  power  was  in  three  years 


304  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

broken  down,  by  what  perverse  and  frantic  misgov- 
eminent  the  tyrant  revived  the  spirit  of  the  vanquisl  ted 
Whigs,  turned  to  fixed  hostility  the  neutrality  of  tho 
trimmers,  and  drove  from  him  the  landed  gentry,  the 
Church,  the  army,  his  own  creatures,  his  own  chil- 
dren, is  well  known  to  our  readers.  But  we  wish  to 
say  something  about  one  part  of  the  question,  which  in 
our  own  time  has  a  little  puzzled  some  very  worthy 
men,  and  about  which  the  author  of  the  Continuation 
before  us  has  said  much  with  which  we  can  by  no 
means  concur. 

James,  it  is  said,  declared  himself  a  supporter  of 
toleration.  If  he  violated  the  constitution,  he  at  least 
violated  it  for  one  of  the  noblest  ends  that  any  states- 
man ever  had  in  view.  His  object  was  to  free  millions 
of  his  subjects  from  penal  laws  and  disabilities  which 
hardly  any  person  now  considers  as  just.  He  ought, 
therefore,  to  be  regarded  as  blameless,  or,  at  worst,  as 
guilty  only  of  employing  irregular  means  to  effect  a 
most  praiseworthy  purpose.  A  very  ingenious  man, 
whom  we  believe  to  be  a  Catholic,  Mr.  Banim,  has 
written  a  historical  novel,  of  the  literary  merit  of  which 
we  cannot  speak  very  highly,  for  the  purpose  of  incul- 
cating this  opinion.  The  editor  of  Mackintosh's  Frag- 
ment assures  us,  that  the  standard  of  James  bore  the 
nobler  inscription,  and  so  forth  ;  the  meaning  of  which 
is,  that  William  and  the  other  authors  of  the  Revolu- 
tion were  vile  Whigs  Avho  drove  out  James  for  being  a 
Radical ;  that  the  crime  of  the  King  was  his  going  far- 
ther in  liberality  than  his  subjects ;  that  he  was  the  real 
champion  of  freedom  ;  and  that  Somers,  Locke,  New- 
ton, and  other  narrow-minded  people  of  the  same  sort, 
were  the  real  bigots  and  oppressors. 

Now,  we  admit  that  if  the  premises  can  be  made  out 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  305 

the  conclusion  follows.  If  it  can  be  shown  that  Jamea 
did  sincerely  wish  to  establish  perfect  freedom  of  con- 
science, we  shall  think  his  conduct  deserving  of  indul- 
gence, if  not  of  praise.  We  shall  not  be  inclined  to 
censure  harshly  even  his  illegal  acts.  We  conceive 
that  so  noble  and  salutary  an  object  would  have  justified 
resistance  on  the  part  of  subjects.  We  can  therefore 
scarcely  deny  that  it  would  at  least  excuse  encroach- 
ment on  the  part  of  a  king.  But  it  can  be  proved,  we 
think,  by  the  strongest  evidence,  that  James  had  no 
such  object  in  view ;  and  that,  under  the  pretence  of 
establishing  perfect  religious  liberty,  he  was  ti'ying  to 
establish  the  ascendency  and  the  exclusive  dominion  of 
the  Church  of  Rome. 

It  is  true  that  he  professed  himself  a  supporter  of 
toleration.  Every  sect  clamours  for  toleration  when 
it  is  down.  We  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that, 
when  Bonner  was  in  the  Marshalsea,  he  thought  it  a 
very  hard  thing  that  a  man  should  be  locked  up  in 
a  gaol  for  not  being  able  to  understand  the  words, 
"  This  is  my  body,"  in  the  same  way  with  the  lords  of 
the  council.  It  \vould  not  be  very  wise  to  conclude 
that  a  beggar  is  full  of  Christian  charity,  because  he 
assures  you  that  God  will  reward  you  if  you  give  him 
a  penny  ;  or  that  a  soldier  is  humane,  because  he  cries 
out  lustily  for  quarter  when  a  bayonet  is  at  his  throat. 
The  doctrine  which,  from  the  very  first  origin  of  re- 
ligious dissensions,  has  been  held  by  all  bigots  of  all 
sects,  when  condensed  into  a  few  words,  and  stripped 
of  rhetorical  disguise,  is  simply  this  :  I  am  in  the  right, 
and  you  are  in  the  wrong.  When  you  are  the  stronger 
you  ought  to  tolerate  me  ;  for  it  is  your  duty  to  tolerate 
truth.  But  when  I  am  the  stronger,  I  shall  persecute 
you  ;  for  it  is  my  duty  to  persecute  error. 


806  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

The  Catholics  lay  under  severe  restraints  in  Eng- 
.and.  James  wished  to  remove  those  restraints ;  and 
therefore  he  held  a  language  favourable  to  liberty  oi 
conscience.  But  the  whole  history  of  his  life  proves 
that  this  was  a  mere  pretence.  In  1679  he  held  simi- 
lar language,  in  a  conversation  with  the  magistrates  of 
Amsterdam ;  and  the  author  of  the  Continuation 
refers  to  this  circumstance  as  a  proof  that  the  King  had 
long  entertained  a  strong  feeling  on  the  subject.  Un- 
happily it  proves  only  the  utter  insincerity  of  all  the 
King's  later  professions.  If  he  had  pretended  to  be 
converted  to  the  doctrines  of  toleration  after  his  acces- 
sion to  the  throne,  some  credit  might  have  been  due  to 
him.  But  we  know  most  certainly  that,  in  1679,  and 
long  after  that  year,  James  was  a  most  bloody  and  re- 
morseless persecutor.  After  1679,  he  was  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  government  of  Scotland.  And  what 
had  been  his  conduct  in  that  country  ?  He  had  hunted 
doAvn  the'  scattered  remnant  of  the  Covenanters  with  a 
barbarity  of  which  no  other  prince  of  modern  times, 
Philip  the  Second  excepted,  had  ever  shown  himseli' 
capable.  He  had  indulged  himself  in  the  amusement 
of  seeing  the  torture  of  the  Boot  inflicted  on  the 
wretched  enthusiasts  whom  persecution  had  driven  to 
resistance.  After  his  accession,  almost  his  first  act 
was  to  obtain  from  the  servile  parliament  of  Scotland  a 
law  for  inflicting  death  on  preachers  at  conventicles 
held  within  houses,  and  on  both  preachers  and  hearers 
at  conventicles  held  in  the  open  air.  All  this  he  had 
done  for  a  religion  which  was  not  his  own.  All  this 
he  had  done,  not  in  defence  of  truth  against  error,  but 
*ji  defence  of  one  damnable  error  against  another,  in 
defence  of  the  Episcopalian  against  the  Presbyterian 
apostasy.  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  is  justly  censuro  1  foi 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  307 

trying  to  dragoon  his. subjects  to  heaven.  But  it  was 
reserved  for  James  to  torture  and  murder  for  the  differ- 
ence between  two  roads  to  hell.  And  this  man,  so 
deeply  imbued  with  the  poison  of  intolerance  that, 
rather  than  not  persecute  at  all,  he  would  persecute 
people  out  of  one  heresy  into  another,  this  man  is  held 
up  as  the  champion  of  religious  liberty.  This  man, 
who  persecuted  in  the  cause  of  the  unclean  panther, 
would  not,  we  are  told,  have  persecuted  for  the  sake  of 
the  milk-white  and  immortal  hind. 

And  what  was  the  conduct  of  James  at  the  very 
time  when  he  was  professing  zeal  for  the  rights  of  con- 
science? Was  he  not  even  then -persecuting  to  the 
very  best  of  his  power  ?  Was  he  not  employing  all 
his  legal  prerogatives,  and  many  prerogatives  which 
were  not  legal,  for  the  purpose  of  forcing  his  subjects 
to  conform  to  his  creed  ?  Wliile  he  pretended  to  abhor 
the  laws  which  excluded  Dissenters  from  office,  was  he 
not  himself  dismissing  from  office  his  ablest,  his  most 
experienced,  his  most  faithful  servants,  on  account  of 
their  religious  opinions  ?  For  what  offence  was  Lord 
Rochester  driven  from  the  Treasury  ?  He  was  closely 
connected  with  the  Royal  House.  He  was  at  the  head 
of  the  Tory  party.  He  had  stood  firmly  by  James  in 
the  most  trying  emergencies.  But  he  would  not 
change  his  religion,  and  he  was  dismissed.  That  we 
may  not  be  suspected  of  ovei-stating  the  case,  Dr.  Lin- 
gard,  a  very  competent,  and  assuredly  not  a  very  wil- 
ling witness,  shall  speak  for  us.  "  The  King,"  says 
that  able  but  partial  writer,  "  was  disappointed :  he 
complained  to  Barillon  of  the  obstinacy  and  insincerity 
of  the  treasurer ;  and  the  latter  received  from  the 
French  envoy  a  very  intelligible  hint  that  the  loss  of 
sffice  would  result  from  his  adhesion  to  his  religious 


308  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

creed.  He  was,  however,  inflexible  ;  and  James,  aftei 
a  long  delay,  communicated  to  him,  but  with  conoider- 
able  embarrassment  and  many  tears,  his  final  determi- 
nation. He  had  hoped,  he  said,  that  Rochester,  by  con- 
forming to  the  Church  of  Rome,  Avould  have  spared 
him  the  unpleasant  task  ;  but  kings  must  sacrifice  their 
feelings  to  their  duty."  And  this  was  the  King  who 
wished  to  have  all  men  of  all  sects  rendered  alike  capa- 
ble of  holding  office.  These  proceedings  were  alone  suf- 
ficient to  take  away  all  credit  from  his  liberal  professions  ; 
and  such,  as  we  learn  from  the  despatches  of  the  Papal 
Nuncio,  was  really  the  eifect.  "  Pare,"  says  D'Adda, 
writing  a  few  days  after  the  retirement  of  Rochester, 
"  pare  che  gli  animi  sono  inaspriti  della  voce  che  corre 
tra  il  popolo,  d'  esser  cacciato  il  detto  ministro  per  non 
essere  Cattolico,  percid  tirarsi  al  estcnninio  de'  Protes- 
tanti."  Was  it  ever  denied  that  the  favours  of  the 
Crown  were  constantly  bestowed  and  withheld  purely 
on  account  of  the  religious  opinions  of  the  claimants  ? 
And  if  these  things  were  done  in  the  green  tree,  what 
would  have  been  done  in  the  dry  ?  If  James  acted 
thus  when  he  had  the  strongest  motives  to  court  his 
Protestant  subjects,  what  course  was  he  likely  to  follow 
when  he  had  obtained  from  them  all  that  he  asked  ? 

Who  again  was  his  closest  ally  ?  And  what  was 
the  policy  of  that  ally  ?  The  subjects  of  James,  it  is 
true,  did  not  know  half  the  infamy  of  their  sovereign. 
They  did  not  know,  as  we  know,  that,  while  he  was 
ecturing  them  on  the  blessings  of  equal  toleration, 
Us  was  constantly  congratulating  his  good  brother 
Lewis  on  the  success  of  that  intolerant  policy  which 
had  turned  the  fairest  tracts  of  France  into  deserts, 
arid  driven  into  exile  myriads  of  the  most  peaceable, 
industrious,  and  skilful  artisans  in  the  world.  Bui 


HISTORY    OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  309 

the  English  did  know  that  the  two  princes  were  bound 
together  in  the  closest  union.  They  saw  their  sover- 
eign with  toleration  on  his  lips,  separating  himself 
from  those  states  which  had  first  set  the  example  of 
toleration,  and  connecting  himself  by  the  strongest 
ties  with  the  most  faithless  and  merciless  persecutor 
who  could  then  be  found  on  any  continental  throne. 

By  what  advice  again  was  James  guided  ?  Who 
were  the  persons  in  whom  he  placed  the  greatest  con- 
fidence, and  who  took  the  warmest  interest  in  his 
schemes  ?  The  ambassador  of  France,  the  Nuncio  of 
Rome,  and  Father  Petre  the  Jesuit.  And  is  not  this 
enough  to  prove  that  the  establishment  of  equal  tol- 
eration was  not  his  plan  ?  Was  Lewis  for  toleration  ? 
Was  the  Vatican  for  toleration  ?  Was  the  order  of 
Jesuits  for  toleration  ?  We  know  that  the  liberal 
professions  of  James  were  highly  approved  by  those 
very  governments,  by  those  very  societies,  whose 
theory  and  practice  it  notoriously  was  to  keep  no  faith 
with  heretics  and  to  give  no  quarter  to  heretics.  And 
are  we,  in  order  to  save  James's  reputation  for  sin- 
cerity, to  believe  that  all  at  once  those  governments 
and  those  societies  had  changed  their  nature,  had  dis- 
covered the  criminality  of  all  their  former  conduct, 
had  adopted  principles  far  more  liberal  than  those  of 
Locke,  of  Leighton,  or  of  Tillotson  ?  Which  is  the 
"nore  probable  supposition,  that  the  King  who  had 
revoked  the  edict  of  Nantes,  the  Pope  under  whose 
sanction  the  Inquisition  was  then  imprisoning  and 
burning,  the  religious  order  which,  in  every  contro- 
versy in  which  it  had  ever  been  engaged,  had  called 
in  the  aid  either  of  the  magistrate  or  of  the  assassin, 
should  have  become  as  thorough-going  friends  to  relig- 
ious liberty  as  Dr.  Franklin  and  Mr.  Jefferson,  or  that 


BIO  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

a  Jesuit-ridden  bigot  should  be  induced  to  dissemble 
fo>'  the  good  of  the  Church  ? 

The  game  which  the  Jesuits  were  playing  wail  no 
new  game.  A  hundred  years  before  they  had  preached 
np  political  freedom,  just  as  they  were  now  preaching 
up  religious  freedom.  They  had  tried  to  raise  the 
republicans  against  Henry  the  Fourth  and  Elizabeth, 
just  as  they  were  now  trying  to  raise  the  Protestant 
Dissenters  against  the  Established  Church.  In  the 
sixteenth  century,  the  tools  of  Philip  the  Second 
were  constantly  preaching  doctrines  that  bordered  on 
Jacobinism,  constantly  insisting  on  the  right  of  the 
people  to  cashier  kings,  and  of  every  private  citizen 
to  plunge  his  dagger  into  the  heart  of  a  wicked  ruler. 
In  the  seventeenth  century,  the  persecutors  of  the 
Huguenots  were  crying  out  against  the  tyranny  of 
the  Established  Church  of  England,  and  vindicating 
with  the  utmost  fervour  the  right  of  every  man  to 
adore  God  after  his  own  fashion.  In  both  cases  they 
were  alike  insincere.  In  both  cases  the  fool  who  had 
trusted  them  would  have  found  himself  miserably 
duped.  A  good  and  wise  man  would  doubtless  dis- 
approve of  the  arbitrary  measures  of  Elizabeth.  But 
would  he  have  really  served  the  interests  of  political 
.liberty,  if  he  had  put  faith  in  the  professions  of  the 
Romish  casuists,  joined  their  party,  and  taken  a  share 
m  Northumberland's  revolt,  or  in  Babington's  con- 
spiracy ?  Would  he  not  have  been  assisting  to  estab- 
lish a  far  worse  tyranny  than  that  which  he  was 
trying  to  put  down  ?  In  the  same  manner,  a  good 
and  wise  man  would  doubtless  see  veiy  much  to 
ccndenm  in  the  conduct  of  the  Church  of  England 
under  the  Stuarts.  But  was  he  therefore  to  join 
the  King  and  the  Catholics  against  that  Church  1 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  311 

And  was  it  not  plain  that,  by  so  doing,  he  would 
assist  in  setting  up  a  spiritual  despotism,  compared 
with  which  the  despotism  of  the  Establishment  was 
as  a  little  finger  to  the  loins,  as  a  rod  of  whips  to  a 
rod  of  scorpions  ? 

Lewis  had  a  far  stronger  mind  than  James.  lie 
had  at  least  an  equally  Tiigh  sense  of  honour.  He  was 
in  a  much  less  degree  the  slave  of  his  priests.  His 
Protestant  subjects  had  all  the  security  for  their  rights 
of  conscience  which  law  and  solemn  compact  could 
give.  Had  that  security  been  found  sufficient  f  And, 
was  not  one  such  instance  enough  for  one  generation  ? 

The  plan  of  James  seems  to  us  perfectly  intelligible. 
The  toleration  which,  with  the  concurrence  and  ap- 
plause of  all  the  most  cruel  persecutors  in  Europe,  he 
was  offering  to  his  people,  was  meant  simply  to  divide 
them.  'This  is  the  most  obvious  and  vulgar  of  political 
artifices.  We  have  seen  it  employed  a  hundred  times 
within  our  own  memory.  At  this  moment  we  see  the 
Carlists  in  France  hallooing  on  the  Extreme  Left 
against  the  Centre  Left.  Four  years  ago  'the  same 
trick  was  practised  in  England.  We  heard  old  buyers 
and  sellers  of  boroughs,  men  who  had  been  seated  in 
the  House  of  Commons  by  the  unsparing  use  of  eject- 
jnents,  and  AA'ho  had,  through  their  whole  lives,  opposed 
,?very  measure  which  tended  to  increase  the  power  of 
Qie  democracy,  abusing  the  Reform  Bill  as  not  demo- 
cratii;  enough,  appealing  to  the  labouring  classes,  exe- 
crating the  tyranny  of  the  ten-pound  householders,  and 
exchanging  compliments  and  caresses  with  the  most 
noi  >1  incendiaries  of  our  time.  The  cry  of  universal 
toleration  was  employed  by  James,  just  as  the  cry  of 
universal  suffrage  was  lately  employed  by  some  veteran 
Tories.  The  object  of  the  mock  democrats  of  our 


312  SIR  JAME3   MACKINTOSH'S 

time  was  to  produce  a  conflict  between  the  middle 
classes  and  the  multitude,  and  thus  to  prevent  all 
reform.  The  object  of  James  was  to  produce  a  con- 
flict between  the  Church  and  the  Protestant  Dissenters, 
and  thus  to  facilitate  the  victory  of  the  Catholics  over 
both. 

We  do  not  believe  that  he  could  have  succeeded. 
But  we  do  not  think  his  plan  so  utterly  frantic  and 
hopeless  as  it  has  generally  been  thought ;  and  we 
are  sure  that,  if  he  had  been  allowed  to  gain  his 
first  point,  the  people  would  have  had  no  remedy 
left  but  an  appeal  to  physical  force,  which  would 
have  been  made  under  most  unfavourable  circum- 
stances. He  conceived  that  the  Tories,  hampered  by 
their  professions  of  passive  obedience,  would  have 
submitted  to  his  pleasure,  and  that  the  Dissenters, 
seduced  by  his  delusive  promises  of  relief,  would  have 
given  him  stremious  support.  In  this  way  he  hoped 
to  obtain  a  law,  nominally  for  the  removal  of  all  re- 
ligious disabilities,  but  really  for  the  excluding  of  all 
Protestants  from  all  offices.  It  is  never  to  be  forgotten 
that  a  prince  who  has  all  the  patronage  of  the  state  in 
his  hands  can,  without  violating  the  letter  of  the  law, 

'  O  * 

establish  whatever  test  he  chooses.  And,  from  the 
whole  conduct  of  James,  we  have  not  the  smallest 
doubt  that  he  would  have  availed  himself  of  his  power 
to  the  utmost.  The  statute-book  might  declare  all 
Englishmen  equally  capable  of  holding  office  ;  but  to 
what  end,  if  all  offices  were  in  the  gift  of  a  sovereign 
resolved  not  to  employ  a  single  heretic  ?  We  firmly 
believe  that  not  one  post  in  the  government,  in  the 
iirmy,  in  the  navy,  on  the  bench,  or  at  the  bar,  not 
one  peerage,  nay  not  one  ecclesiastical  benefice  in  the 
royal  gift,  would  have  been  bestowed  on  any  Prote& 


HISTORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  813 

fcant  of  any  persuasion.  Even  while  the  King  had 
still  strong  motives  to  dissemble,  he  had  made  a  Cath- 
•olic  Dean  of  Christ  Church  and  a  Catholic  President 
of  Magdalen  College.  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt 

O  O 

that  the  See  of  York  was  kept  vacant  for  another 
Catholic.  If  James  had  been  suffered  to  follow  this 
course  for  twenty  years,  every  military  man  from  a 
general  to  a  drummer,  every  officer  of  a  ship,  every 
judge,  every  King's  counsel,  every  lord-lieutenant  of 
a  county,  every  justice  of  the  peace,  every  ambassa- 
dor, every  minister  of  state,  every  person  employed  in 
the  royal  household,  in  the  custom-house,  in  the  post- 
office,  in  the  excise,  would  have  been  a  Catholic.  The 
Catholics  would  have  had  a  majority  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  even  if  that  majority  had  been  made,  as  Sun- 
derland  threatened,  by  bestowing  coronets  on  a  whole 
troop  of  the  Guards.  Catholics  would  have  had,  we 
believe,  the  chief  weight  even  in  the  Convocation. 
Every  bishop,  every  dean,  every  holder  of  a  crown 
living,  every  head  of  every  college  which  was  sub- 
ject to  the  royal  power,  would  have  belonged  to  the 
Church  of  Rome.  Almost  all  the  places  of  liberal  edu- 
v,ation  would  have  been  under  the  direction  of  Catho- 
des. The  whole  power  of  licensing  books  would  have 
been  in  the'  hands  of  Catholics.  All  this  immense 
mass  of  power  would  have  been  steadily  supported 
by  the  arms  and  by  the  gold  of  France,  and  would 
have  descended  to  an  heir  whose  whole  education 
would  have  been  conducted  with  a  view  to  one  sin- 
gle end,  the  complete  reestablishment  of  the  Catho- 
lic religion.  The  House  of  Commons  would  have 
been  the  only  legal  obstacle.  But  the  rights  of  a 
great  portion  of  the  electors  vere  at  the  mercy  of 
the  courts  of  law  ;  and  the  courts  of  law  were  ab- 
voi,.  »n.  14 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

solutely  dependent  on  the  Crown.  We  cannot  there- 
fore think  it  altogether  impossible  that  a  house  might 
have  been  packed  which  would  have  restored  the  days 
of  Mary. 

We  certainly  do  not  believe  that  this  would  have 
been  tamely  borne.  Bnt  we  do  believe  that,  if  the 
nation  had  been  deluded  by  the  King's  professions  of 
toleration,  all  this  would  have  been  attempted,  and 
could  have  been  averted  only  by  a  most  bloody  and 
destructive  contest,  in  which  the  whole  Protestant  pop- 
ulation would  have  been  opposed  to  the  Catholics.  On 
the  one  side  would  have  been  a  vast  numerical  superi- 
ority. But  on  the  other  side  would  have  been  the 
whole  organization  of  government,  and  two  great  disci- 
plined armies,  that  of  James,  and  that  of  Lewis.  We 
do  not  doubt  that  the  nation  would  have  achieved  its 
deliverance.  But  we  believe  that  the  struggle  would 
have  shaken  the  whole  fabric  of  society,  and  that  the 
vengeance  of  the  conaucrors  would  have  been  terrible 

O  A 

and  unsparing. 

But  James  was  stopped  at  the  outset.  He  thought 
himself  secure  of  the  Tories,  because  they  professed 
to  consider  all  resistance  as  sinful,  and  of  the  Protes- 
tant Dissenters,  because  he  offered  them  relief.  He 
tvas  in  the  Wrong  as  to  both.  The  error  into  which  he 
tell  about  the  Dissenters  was  very  natural.  But  the 
confidence  which  he  placed  in  the  loyal  assurances 
of  the  High  Church  party,  was  the  most  exquisitely 
ludicrous  proof  of  folly  that  a  politician  ever  gave. 

Only  imagine  a  man  acting  for  one  single  day  on  the 
supposition  that  all  his  neighbours  believe  all  that  they 
profess,  and  act  up  to  all  that  they  believe.  Imagine 
a  man  acting  on  the  supposition  that  he  may  safely 
offer  the  deadliest  injuries  and  insults  to  everybody  who 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  315 

says  that  revenge  is  sinful ;  or  that  he  may  safely  in- 
trust all  his  property  without  security  to  any  person 
who  says  that  it  is  wrong  to  steal.  Such  a  character 
would  be  too  absurd  for  the  wildest  farce.  Yet  the 
folly  of  James  did  not  stop  short  of  this  incredible  ex- 
tent. Because  the  clergy  had  declared  that  resistance 
to  oppression  was  in  no  case  lawful,  he  conceived  that 
he  might  oppress  them  exactly  as  much  as  he  chose, 
without  the  smallest  danger  of  resistance.  He  quite 
forgot  that,  when  they  magnified  the  royal  prerogative, 
the  prerogative  was  exerted  on  their  side,  that,  when 
they  preached  endurance,  they  had  nothing  to  endure. 
that,  when  they  declared  it  unlawful  to  resist  evil,  none 
but  Whigs  and  Dissenters  suffered  any  evil.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  a  man  feels  the  calamities 
of  his  enemies  with  one  sort  of  sensibility,  and  his  own 
with  quite  a  different  sort.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
him  as  possible  that  a  reverend  divine 'might  think  it 
the  duty  of  Baxter  and  Bunyan  to  bear  insults  and  to 
lie  in  dungeons  without  murmuring,  and  yet,  when  he 
saw  the  smallest  chance  that  his  own  prebend  might  be 
transferred  to  some  sly  Father  from  Italy  or  Flanders, 
might  begin  to  discover  much  matter  for  useful  medita- 
tion in  the  texts  touching  Ehud's  knife  and  Jael's  ham- 
mer. His  majesty  was  not  aware,  it  should  seem,  that 
people  do  sometimes  reconsider  their  opinions  ;  and  that 
nothing  more  disposes  a  man  to  reconsider  his  opinions 
than  a  suspicion,  that,  if  he  adheres  to  them,  he  is  very 
likely  to  be  a  beggar  or  a  martyr.  Yet  it  seems  strange 
that  these  truths  should  have  escaped  the  royal  mind. 
Those  Churchmen  who  had  signed  the  Oxford  Deda- 
tation  in  favour  of  passive  obedience  had  also  signed  the 
thirty-nine  Articles.  And  yet  the  very  man  who  con- 
fidently expected  that,  by  a  little  coaxing  fuid  bullying, 


316  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

he  should  induce  them  to  renounce  the  Abides,  was 
thunderstruck  when  he  found  that  they  were  disposed 
to  soften  down  the  doctrines  of  the  Declaration.  Nor 
did  it  necessarily  follow  that,  even  if  the  theory  of  the 
Tories  had  undergone  no  modification,  their  practice 
would  coincide  with  their  theory.  It  might,  one  should 
think,  have  crossed  the  mind  of  a  man  of  fifty,  who  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  that  people  sometimes 
do  what  they  think  wrong.  Though  a  prelate  might 
hold  that  Paul  directs  us  to  ohey  even  a  Nero,  it  might 
not  on  that  account  he  perfectly  safe  to  treat  the  Right 
Reverend  Father  in  God  after  the  fashion  of  Nero,  in 
the  hope  that  he  would  continue  to  ohey  on  the  princi- 
ples of  Paul.  The  King  indeed  had  only  to  look  at 
home.  He  was  at  least  as  much  attached  to  the  Cath- 
olic Church  as  any  Tory  gentleman  or  clergyman  could 
be  to  the  Church  of  England.  Adultery  was  at  least  as 
clearly  and  strongly  condemned  hy  his  Church  as  resist- 
ance by  the  Church  of  England.  Yet  his  priests 
could  not  keep  him  from  Arabella  Sedley.  While  he 
was  risking  his  crown  for  the  sake  of  his  soul,  he  was 
risking  his  soul  for  the  sake  of  an  ugly,  dirty  mistress. 
There  is  something  delightfully  grotesque  in  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  man  who,  while  living  in  the  habitual  viola- 
tion of  his  own  known  duties,  is  unable  to  believe  that 
any  temptation  can  draw  any  other  person  aside  from 
the  path  of  virtue. 

James  was  disappointed  in  all  his  calculations.  His 
hope  was  that  the  Tories  would  follow  their  principles, 
and  that  the  Non-conformists  would  follow  their  inter- 
ests. Exactly  the  reverse  took  place.  The  great  body 
>sf  the  Tories  sacrificed  the  principle  of  non-resistance 
to  their  interests  ;  the  great  body  of  Non-conformists 
rejected  the  delusive  offers  cf  the  King,  and  stood 


HISTORF  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  317 

firmly  by  their  principles.  The  two  parties  -whose 
strife  had  convulsed  the  empire  during  half  a  century 
were  united  for  a  moment ;  and  all  the  vast  royal 
power  which  three  years  before  had  seemed  immovably 
fixed  vanished  at  once  like  chaff  in  a  hurricane. 

The  very  great  length  to  which  this  article  has  al- 
ready been  extended  makes  it  impossible  for  us  to  dis- 
cuss, as  we  had  meant  to  do,  the  characters  and  conduct 
of  the  leading  English  statesmen  at  this  crisis.  But  we 
must  offer  a  few  remarks  on  the  spirit  and  tendency  of 
the  Revolution  of  1688. 

The  editor  of  this  volume  quotes  the  Declaration  of 
Right,  and  tells  us  that,  by  looking  at  it,  we  may 
"judge  at  a  glance  whether  the  authors  of  the  Revolu- 
tion achieved  all  they  might  and  ought,  in  their  position, 
to  have  achieved ;  whether  the  Commons  of  England 
did  their  duty  to  their  constituents,  their  country,  pos- 
terity, and  universal  freedom."  We  are  at  a  loss  to 
imagine  how  he  can  have  read  and  transcribed  the 
Declaration  of  Right,  and  yet  have  so  utterly  miscon- 
ceived its  nature.  That  famous  document  is,  as  its 
very  name  imports,  declaratory,  and  not  remedial.  It 
was  never  meant  to  be  a  measure  of  reform.  It  neither 
contained,  nor  was  designed  to  contain,  any  allusion  to 
these  innovations  which  the  authors  of  the  Revolution 
considered  as  desirable,  and  which  they  speedily  pro- 
ceeded to  make.  The  Declaration  was  merely  a  recital 
of  certain  old  and  wholesome  laws  which  had  been  vio- 
lated by  the  Stuarts,  and  a  solemn  protest  against  the 
validity  of  any  precedent  which  might  be  set  up  in  op- 
position to  those  laws.  The  words  run  thus  :  "  They 
lo  claim,  demand,  and  insist  upon  all  and  singular  the 
premises  as  their  undoubted  rights  and  liberties."  Be 

O 

(ore  a  man  begins  to  make  improvements  on  his  estate 


318  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

he  must  know  its  boundaries.  Before  a  legislature  sita 
down  to  reform  a  constitution,  it  is  fit  to  ascertain  what 
that  constitution  really  is.  This  is  all  that  the  Decla- 
ration was  intended  to  do ;  and  to  quarrel  with  it 
because  it  did  not  directly  introduce  any  beneficial 
changes  is  to  quarrel  with  meat  for  not  being  fuel. 

The  principle  on  which  the  authors  of  the  Revolu« 
tion  acted  cannot  be  mistaken.  They  were  perfectly 
aware  that  the  English  institutions  stood  in  need  of  re- 
form. But  they  also  knew  that  an  important  point  was 
gained  if  they  could  settle  once  for  all,  by  a  solemn 
compact,  the  matters  which  had,  during  several  genera- 
tions, been  in  controversy  between  the  Parliament  and 
the  Crown.  They  therefore  most  judiciously  abstained 
from  mixing  up  the  irritating  and  perplexing  question 
of  what  ought  to  be  the  law  with  the  plain  question  of 
what  was  the  law.  As  to  the  claims  set  forth  in  the 
Declaration  of  Right,  there  was  little  room  for  debate. 
Whigs  and  Tories  were  generally  agreed  as  to  the  ille- 
gality of  the  dispensing  power  and  of  taxation  imposed 
by  the  royal  prerogative.  The  articles  were  therefore 
adjusted  in  a  very  few  days.  But  if  the  Parliament 
had  determined  to  revise  the  whole  constitution,  and  to 
provide  new  securities  against  misgovernment,  before 
proclaiming  the  neAV  sovereigns,  months  would  have 
been  lost  in  disputes.  The  coalition  which  had  deliv- 
ered the  country  would,  have  been  instantly  dissolved. 
The  Whigs  would  have  quarrelled  with  the  Tories,  the 
Lords  with  the  Commons,  the  Church  with  the  Dissent- 
ers ;  and  all  this  storm  of  conflicting  interests  and  con- 
flicting theories  would  have  been  raging  round  a  vacant 
throne.  In  the  mean  time,  the  greatest  power  on  the 
Continent  was  attacking  our  allies,  and  meditating  a 
descent  on  our  own  territories  Dundee  was  preparing 


HISTORY  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  319 

to  raise  the  Highlands,  The  authority  of  James  was 
still  owned  by  the  Irish.  If  the  authors  of  the  Revo- 
lution had  been  fools  enougii  to  take  this  course,  we 
Iiave  little  doubt  that  Luxembourg  would  have  been 
upon  them  in  the  midst  of  their  constitution-making. 
They  might  probably  have  been  interrupted  in  a  debate 
on  Kilmer's  and  Sydney's  theories  of  government  by 
the  entrance  of  the  musqueteers  of  Lewis's  household, 
and  have  been  marched  off,  two  and  two,  to  frame 
imaginary  monarchies  and  commonwealths  in  the 
Tower.  We  have  had  in  our  own  time  abundant  ex- 
perience of  the  effects  of  such  folly.  We  have  seen 
nation  after  nation  enslaved,  because  the  friends  of  lib- 
erty wasted  in  discussions  upon  abstract  questions  the 
time  which  ought  to  have  been  employed  in  preparing 
for  vigorous  national  defence.  This  editor,  apparently, 
would  have  had  the  English  Revolution  of  1688  end  as 
the  Revolutions  of  Spain  and  Naples  ended  in  our  days. 
Thank  God,  our  deliverers  were  men  of  a  very  differ- 
ent order  from  the  Spanish  and  Neapolitan  legislators. 
They  might,  on  many  subjects,  hold  opinions  which, 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  would  net  be  considered  as 
liberal.  But  they  were  not  dreaming  pedants.  They 
were  statesmen  accustomed  to  the  management  of  great 
affairs.  Their  plans  of  reform  were  not  so  extensive 
as-  those  of  the  lawgivers  of  Cadiz ;  but  what  they 
planned,  that  they  effected ;  and  what  they  effected, 
that  they  maintained  against  the  fiercest  hostility  at 
home  and  abroad. 

Their  first  object  was  to  seat  William  on  the  throne; 
and  they  were  right.  We  say  this  without  any  ref- 
fcrence  to  the  eminent  personal  pialities  of  William,  or 
to  the  follies  and  crimes  of  James.  If  the  two  princes 
nad  interchanged  characters,  our  opinion  would  stili 


320  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

have  been  the  same.  It  was  even  more  necessary  to 
England  at  that  time  that  her  king  should  be  a  usurper 
than  that  he  should  be  a  hero.  There  could  be  no 
security  for  good  government  without  a  change  of 
dynasty.  The  reverence  for  hereditary  right  and  the 
doctrine  of  passive  obedience  had  taken  such  a  hold  en 
the  minds  of  the  Tories,  that,  if  James  had  been  restored 
to  power  on  any  conditions,  their  attachment  to  him 
would  in  all  probability  have  revived,  as  the  indignation 
which  recent  oppression  had  produced  faded  from  their 
minds.  It  had  become  indispensable  to  have  a  sovereign 
whose  title  to  his  throne  was  strictly  bound  up  with  the 
title  of  the  nation  to  its  liberties.  In  the  compact  be- 
tween the  Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Convention,  there 
was  one  most  important  article  which,  though  not  ex- 
pressed, was  perfectly  understood  by  both  parties,  and 
for  the  performance  of  which  the  country  had  securities 
far  better  than  all  the  engagements  that  Charles  the 
First  or  Ferdinand  the  Seventh  ever  took  in  the  day  of 
their  weakness,  and  broke  in  the  day  of  their  power. 
The  article  to  which  we  allude  was  this,  that  William 
would  in  all  things  conform  himself  to  what  should 
appear  to  be  the  fixed  and  deliberate  sense  of  his  Par- 
liament. The  security  for  the  performance  was  this, 
that  he  had  no  claim  to  the  throne  except  the  choice  of 
Parliament,  and  no  means  of  maintaining  himself  on 
the  throne  but  the  support  of  Parliament.  All  the  great 
and  inestimable  reforms  which  speedily  followed  the  Rev- 
olution were  implied  in  those  simple  words  ;  "  The  Lords 
Spiritual  and  Temporal,  and  Commons,  assembled  at 
Westminster,  do  resolve  that  William  and  Mary,  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Orange,  be,  and  be  declared  King  and 
Queen  of  England." 
And  what  were  the  reforms  of  which  we  speak  ?  We 


HISTORY   OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  321 

will  shortly  recount  some  \vliicli  we  think  the  most  im- 
portant ;  and  we  will  then  leave  our  readers  to  judge 
whether  those  who  consider  the  Revolution  as  a  mere 
change  of  dynasty,  beneficial  to  a  few  aristocrats,  but 
useless  to  the  body  of  the  people,  or  those  who  consider 
it  as  a  happy  era  in  the  history  of  the  British  nation 
and  of  the  human  species,  have  judged  more  correctly 
of  its  nature. 

Foremost  in  the  list  of  the  benefits  which  our  country 
owes  to  the  Revolution  we  place  the  Toleration  Act. 
It  is  true  that  this  measure  fell  short  of  the  wishes  of 
the  leading  Whigs.  It  is  true  also  that,  where  Catho- 
lics were  concerned,  even  the  most  enlightened  of  the 
leading  Whigs  held  opinions  by  no  means  so  liberal  as 
those  which  are  happily  common  at  the  present  day. 
Those  distinguished  statesmen  did  however  make  a 
noble,  and,  in  some  respects,  a  successful  struggle  for 
the  rights  of  conscience.  Their  wish  was  to  bring  the 
great  body  of  the  Protestant  Dissenters  within  the  pale 
of  the  Church  by  judicious  alterations  in  the  Liturgy 
and  the  Articles,  and  to  grant  to  those  who  still  re- 
mained without  that  pale  the  most  ample  toleration. 
They  framed  a  plan  of  comprehension  which  would 
have  satisfied  a  great  majority  of  the  seceders ;  and 
they  proposed  the  complete  abolition  of  that  absurd  and 
odious  test  which,  after  having  been,  during  a  century 
and  a  half,  a  scandal  to  the  pious  and  a  laughing-stock 
to  the  profane,  was  at  length  remove  1  in  our  own  time. 
The  immense  power  of  the  Clergy  and  of  the  Tory 
gentry  frustrated  these  excellent  designs.  The  Whigs, 
however,  did  much.  They  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  law 
in  the  provisions  of  which  a  philosopher  will  doubtless 
find  much  to  condemn,  but  which  had  the  practical 
effect  of  enabling  almost  every  Protestant  Nonconform- 


822  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

ist  to  follow  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience  without 
molestation.  Scarcely  a  law  in  the  statute-book  ig 
theoretically  more  objectionable  than  the  Toleration 
Act.  But  we  question  whether  in  the  whole  of  that 
vast  mass  of  legislation,  from  the  Great  Charter  down- 
wards, there  be  a  single  law  which  has  so  much  dimin- 
ished the  sum  of  human  suffering,  which  has  done  so 
much  to  allay  bad  passions,  which  has  put  an  end  to  so 
much  petty  tyranny  and  vexation,  which  has  brought 
gladness,  peace,  and  a  sense  of  security  to  so  many 
private  dwellings. 

The  second  of  those  great  reforms  which  the  Revo- 
lution produced  was  the  final  establishment  of  the 
Presbyterian  Kirk  in  Scotland.  We  shall  not  now 
inquire  whether  the  Episcopal  or  the  Calvinistic  form 
of  Church- government  be  more  agreeable  to  primitive 
practice.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  disturb  with  our  doubts 
the  repose  of  any  Oxonian  Bachelor  of  Divinity  who 
conceives  that  the  English  prelates  with  their  baronies 
and  palaces,  their  purple  and  their  fine  linen,  their 
mitred  carriages  and  their  sumptuous  tables,  are  the 
true  successors  of  those  ancient  bishops  who  lived  by 
catching  fish  and  mending  tents.  We  say  only  that 
the  Scotch,  doubtless  from  their  own  inveterate  stu- 
pidity and  malice,  were  not  Episcopalians  ;  that  they 
could  not  be  made  Episcopalians ;  that  the  whole 
power  of  government  had  been  in  vain  employed  for 
the  purpose  of  converting  them;  that  the  fullest  in- 
struction on  the  mysterious  questions  of  the  Apostolical 
succession  and  the  imposition  of  hands  had  been  im- 
parted by  the  very  logical  process  of  putting  the  legs  of 
the  students  into  wooden  boots,  and  driving  two  or  more 
hedges  between  their  knees  ;  that  a  course  of  divinity 
ectures,  of  the  most  edifying  kind,  had  been  given  ir 


HISTORY    OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  323 

the  grass-market  of  Edinburgh ;  yet  that,  in  spite  of 
all  the  exertions  of  those  great  theological  professors, 
Lauderdale  and  Dundee,  the  Covenanters  were  as 
obstinate  as  ever.  To  the  contest  between  the  Scotch 
nation  and  the  Anglican  Church  are  to  be  ascribed 
near  thirty  years  of  the  most  frightful  misgovernment 
ever  ssen  in  any  part  of  Great  Britain.  If  the  Revo 
lution  had  produced  no  other  effect  than  that  of  freeing 
the  Scotch  from  the  yoke  of  an  establishment  which 
they  detested,  and  giving  them  one  to  which  they 
were  attached,  it  would  have  been  one  of  the  happiest 
events  in  our  history. 

The  third  great  benefit  which  the  country  derived 
from  the  Revolution  was  the  alteration  in  the  mode 
of  granting  the  supplies.  It  had  been  the  practice  to 
settle  on  every  prince,  at  the  commencement  of  his 
reign,  the  produce  of  certain  taxes  which,  it  was  sup- 
posed, would  yield  a  sum  sufficient  to  defray  the 
ordinary  expenses  of  government.  The  distribution  of 
the  revenue  was  left  wholly  to  the  sovereign.  He 
might  be  forced  by  a  war,  or  by  his  own  profusion,  to 
ask  for  an  extraordinary  grant.  But,  if  his  policy 
were  economical  and  pacific,  he  might  reign  many 
years  without  once  being  under  the  necessity  of  sum- 
moning his  Parliament,  or  of  taking  their  advice  when 
he  had  summoned  them.  This  was  not  all.  The 
natural  tendency  of  every  society  in  which  property 
enjoys  tolerable  security  is  to  increase  in  wealth. 
With  the  national  wealth,  the  produce  of  the  customs, 
of  the  excise,  and  of  the  post-office,  would  of  course 
increase  ;  and  thus  it  might  well  happen  that  taxes 
which,  at  the  beginning  of  a  long  reign,  were  barely 
sufficient  to  support  a  frugal  government  in  time  of 
peace,  might,  before  the  end  of  that  reign,  enable  the 


824  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

sovereign  to  imitate  the  extravagance  of  Nero  or  Helio 
gabalus,  to  raise  great  armies,  to  carry  on  expensive 
wars.  Something  of  this  sort  had  actually  happened 
under  Charles  the  Second,  though  his  reign,  reckoned 
from  the  Restoration,  lasted  only  twenty-live  years, 
His  first  Parliament  settled  on  him  taxes  estimated  to 
produce  twelve  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
This  they  thought  sufficient,  as  they  allowed  nothing 
for  a  standing  army  in  time  of  peace.  At  the  time  of 
Charles's  death,  the  annual  produce  of  these  taxes  con- 
siderably exceeded  a  million  and  a  half;  and  the  King 
who,  during  the  years  which  immediately  followed  his 
accession,  was  perpetually  in  distress,  and  perpetually 
asking  his  Parliaments  for  money,  was  at  last  able  to 
keep  a  body  of  regular  troops  without  any  assistance 
from  the  House  of  Commons.  If  his  reign  had  been 
as  long  as  that  of  George  the  Third,  he  would  probably, 
before  the  close  of  it,  have  been  in  the  annual  receipt 
of  several  millions  over  and  above  what  the  ordinary 
expenses  of  civil  government  required ;  and  of  those 
millions  he  would  have  been  as  absolutely  master  as 
the  King  now  is  of  the  sum  allotted  for  his  privy-purse. 
He  might  have  spent  them  in  luxury,  in  corruption,  in 
paying  troops  to  overawe  his  people,  or  in  carrying 
into  effect  wild  schemes  of  foreign  conquest.  The 
authors  of  the  Revolution  applied  a  remedy  to  this 
great  abuse.  They  settled  on  the  King,  not  the  fluc- 
tuating produce  of  certain  fixed  taxes,  but  a  fixed  sum 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  his  own  royal  state.  They 
established  it  as  a  rule  that  all  the  expenses  of  the 
army,  the  navy,  and  the  ordnance,  should  be  brought 
annually  under  the  review  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
und  that  every  sum  voted  should  be  applied  to  the 
service  specified  in  the  vote.  The  direct  effect  of  rhi? 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  325 

change  was  important.  The  indirect  effect  has  been 
more  important  still.  From  that  time  the  House  of 
Commons  has  been  really  the  paramount  power  in  the 
state.  It  has,  in  truth,  appointed  and  removed  minis- 
ters, declared  war,  and  concluded  peace.  No  combi- 
nation of  the  King  and  the  Lords  has  ever  been  able 
to  effect  any  thing  against  the  Lower  House,  backed 
by  its  constituents.  Three  or  four  times,  indeed,  the 
sovereign  has  been  able  to  break  the  force  of  an  oppo- 
sition by  dissolving  the  Parliament.  But  if  that  exper- 
iment should  fail,  if  the  people  should  be  of  the  same 
mind  with  their  representatives,  he  would  clearly  have 
no  course  left  but  to  yield,  to  abdicate,  or  to  fight. 

The  next  great  blessing  which  we  owe  to  the  Revo- 
lution is  the  purification  of  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice in  political  cases.  Of  the  importance  of  this  change 
no  person  can  judge  who  is  not  well  acquainted  with 
the  earlier  volumes  of  the  State  Trials.  These  vol- 
umes are,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  the  most  frightful 
record  of  baseness  and  depravity  that  is  extant  in 
the  world.  Our  hatred  is  altogether  turned  away 
from  the  crimes  and  the  criminals,  and  directed  against 
the  law  and  its  ministers.  We  see  villanies  as  black 
as  ever  were  imputed  to  any  prisoner  at  any  bar  daily 
committed  on  the  bench  and  in  the  jury-box.  The 
worst,  of  the  bad  acts  which  brought  discredit  on  the 
old  Parliaments  of  France,  the  condemnation  of  Lally, 
for  example,  or  even  that  of  Galas,  may  seem  praise- 
worthy when  compared  with  the  atrocities  which  follow 
each  other  in  endless  succession  as  we  turn  over  thai 
huge  chronicle  of  the  shame  of  England.  The  magis- 
trates of  Paris  and  Toulouse  were  blinded  by  prejudice, 
passion,  or  bigotry.  But  the  abandoned  judges  of  our 
own  country  committed  murder  with  their  eyes  open 


326  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

The  cause  of  this  is  plain.  In  France  there  was  no 
constitutional  opposition.  If  a  man  held  language 
offensive  to  tbn  government,  he  was  at  once  sent  to  the 
Bastile  or  to  Vincennes.  But  in  England,  at  lea?,t 
after  the  days  of  the  Long  Parliament,  the  King  could 
not,  by  a  mere  act  of  his  prerogative,  rid  himself  of  a 
troublesome  politician.  He  was  forced  to  remove 
those  who  thwarted  him  by  means  of  perjured  wit- 
nesses, packed  juries,  and  corrupt,  hard-hearted,  brow- 
beating judges.  The  Opposition  naturally  retaliated 
whenever  they  had  the  upper  hand.  Every  time  that 
the  power  passed  from  one  party  to  the  other,  there 
was  a  proscription  and  a  massacre,  thinly  disguised 
under  the  forms  of  judicial  procedure.  The  tribunals 
ought  to  be  sacred  places  of  refuge,  where,  in  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  public  affairs,  the  innocent  of  all  parties 
may  find  shelter.  They  were,  before  the  Revolution, 
an  unclean  public  shambles,  to  which  each  party  in  its 
turn  dragged  its  opponents,  and  where  each  found 
the  same  venal  and  ferocious  butchers  waiting  for  its 
custom.  Papist  or  Protestant,  Tory  or  Whig,  Priest 
or  Alderman,  all  was  one  to  those  greedy  and  savage 
natures,  provided  only  there  was  money  to  earn,  and 
blood  to  shed. 

Of  course,  these  worthless  judges  soon  created  around 
them,  as  was  natural,  a  breed  of  informers  more 
wicked,  if  possible,  than  themselves.  The  trial  by  jury 
afforded  little  or  no  protection  to  the  innocent.  The 
juries  were  nominated  by  the  sheriffs.  The  sheriffs 
were  in  most  parts  of  England  nominated  by  the 
Crown.  In  London,  the  great  scene  of  political  con 
tention,  those  officers  were  chosen  by  the  people.  The 
fiercest  parliamentary  election  of  our  time  will  g'.ve  but 
a  faint  notion  of  the  storm  which  raged  in  the  city  OD 


HISTORY  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  327 

the  day  when  two  infuriated  parties,  each  bearing  ita 
badge,  met  to  select  the  men  in  whose  hands  were  to 
be  the  issues  of  life  and  death  for  the  coming  year. 
On  that  day,  nobles  of  the  highest  descent  did  not 
think  it  beneath  them  to  canvass  and  marshal  the  livery, 
to  head  the  procession,  and  to  watch  the  poll.  On  that 
day,  the  great  chiefs  of  parties  waited  in  an  agony  of 
suspense  for  the  messenger  who  was  to  bring  from 
Guildhall  the  news  whether  their  lives  and  estates  were, 
for  the  next  twelve  months,  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a 
friend  or  of  a  foe.  In  1681,  Whig  sheriffs  were 
chosen  ;  and  Shaftesbnry  defied  the  whole  power  of 
the  government.  In  1682  the  sheriffs  were  Tories. 
Shaftesbury  fled  to  Holland.  The  other  chiefs  of  the 
party  broke  up  their  councils,  and  retired  in  haste  to 
their  country-seats.  Sydney  on  the  scaffold  told  those 
sheriffs  that  his  blood  was  on  their  heads.  Neither  of 
them  could  deny  the  charge ;  and  one  of  them  wept 
with  shame  and  remorse. 

Thus  every  man  who  then  meddled  with  public  af- 
fairs, took  his  life  in  his  hand.  The  consequence  was 
that  men  of  gentle  natures  stood  aloof  from  contests  in 
which  they  could  not  engage  without  hazarding  their 
own  necks  and  the  fortunes  of  their  children.  This 
was  the  course  adopted  by  Sir  William  Temple,  by 
Evelyn,  and  by  many  other  men  who  were,  in  every 
respect,  admirably  qualified  to  serve  the  State,.  On 
the  other  hand,  those  resolute  and  enterprising  men 
who  put  their  heads  and  lands  to  hazard  in  the  game 

-«•  O 

of  politics  naturally  acquired,  from  the  habit  of  playing 
for  so  deep  a  stake,  a  reckless  and  desperate  turn  of 
mind.  It  was,  we  seriously  believe,  as  safe  to  be  a 
aighwayman  as  to  be  a  distinguished  leader  of  Opposi- 
tion. This  may  serve  to  explain,  ami  in  some  degree 


828  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

to  excuse,  the  violence  with  which  the  factions  of  that 
age  are  justly  reproached.  They  were  fighting,  not 
merely  for  office,  but  for  life.  If  they  reposed  for  a 
moment  from  the  work  of  agitation,  if  they  suffered 
the  public  excitement  to  flag,  they  were  lost  men. 
Hume,  in  describing  this  state  of  things,  has  employed 
an  image  which  seems  hardly  to  suit  the  general  sim- 
plicity of  his  style,  but  which  is  by  no  means  too  strong 
for  the  occasion.  "  Thus,"  says  he,  "  the  two  parties 
actuated  by  mutual  rage,  but  cooped  up  within  the 
narrow  limits  of  the  law,  levelled  with  poisoned  dag- 
gers the  most  deadly  blows  against  each  other's  breast, 
and  buried  in  their  factious  divisions  all  regard  to  truth, 
honour,  and  humanity." 

From  this  terrible  evil  the  Revolution  set  us  free. 
The  law  which  secured  to  the  judges  their  seats  during 
life  or  good  behaviour  did  something.  The  law  subse- 
quently passed  for  regulating  trials  in  cases  of  treason 
did  much  more.  The  provisions  of  that  law  show, 
indeed,  very  little  legislative  skill.  It  is  not  framed  on 
the  principle  of  securing  the  innocent,  but  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  giving  a  great  chance  of  escape  to  the  accused, 
whether  innocent  or  guilty.  This,  however,  is  de- 
cidedly a  fault  on  the  right  side.  The  evil  produced 
by  the  occasional  escape  of  a  bad  citizen  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  evils  of  that  Reign  of  Terror,  for 
such  \t  was,  which  preceded  the  Revolution.  Since 
the  passing  of  this  law  scarcely  one  single  person  has 
suffered  death  in  England  as  a  traitor,  who  had  not 

O 

Deen  convicted  on  overwhelming  evidence,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  all  parties,  of  the  highest  crime  against  the 
State.  Attempts  have  been  made  in  times  of  great 
excitement,  to  bring  hi  persons  guilty  of  high  treasr  n 
for  acts  which,  though  sometimes  highly  blamable,  cud 


HISTORY   OF   THE  REVOLUTION".  329 

hot  necessarily  imply  a  design  falling  within  the  lega: 
definition  of  treason.  All  those  attempts  have  failed. 
During  a  hundred  and  forty  years  no  statesman,  while 
engaged  in  constitutional  opposition  to  a  government, 
has  had  the  axe  before  his  eyes.  The  smallest  minori- 
ties, struggling  against  the  most  powerful  majorities,  in 
the  most  agitated  times,  have  felt  themselves  perfectly 
secure.  Pulteney  and  Fox  were  the  two  most  distin- 
guished leaders  of  Opposition  since  the  Revolution. 
Both  were  personally  obnoxious  to  the  Court.  But 
the  utmost  harm  that  the  utmost  anger  of  the  Court 
could  do  to  them  was  to  strike  off  the  "  Right  Hon- 
ourable "  from  before  their  names. 

But  of  all  the  reforms  produced  by  the  Revolution, 
perhaps  the  most  important  was  the  full  establishment 
of  the  liberty  of  unlicensed  printing.  The  Censorship 
which,  under  some  form  or  other,  had  existed,  with 
rare  and  short  intermissions,  under  every  government, 
monarchical  or  republican,  from  the  time  of  Henry  the 
Eighth  downwards,  expired,  and  has  never  since  been 
renewed. 

We  are  aware  that  the  great  improvements  which 
we  have  recapitulated  were,  in  many  respects,  imper- 
fectly and  unskilfully  executed.  The  authors  of  those 
improvements  sometimes,  while  they  removed  or  miti- 
gfited  a  great  practical  evil,  continued  to  recognise  the 
erroneous  principle  from  which  that  evil  had  sprung. 
Sometimes  when  they  had  adopted  a  sound  principle, 
they  shrank  from  following  it  to  all  the  conclusions  to 
wldch  it  would  have  led  them.  Sometimes  they  failed 
to  perceive  that  the  remedies  which  they  applied  to  one 
disease  of  the  State  were  certain  to  generate  another 
disease,  and  to  render  another  remedy  necessaiy. 
Their  knowledge  was  inferior  to  curs :  nor  were  they 


830    -  SIR  JAMES  MACKIX  I  OSH'S 

always  able  to  act  up  to  their  knowledge  The  press- 
ure of  circumstances,  the  necessity  of  compromising 
differences  of  opinion,  the  power  and  violence  of  the 
party  which  was  altogether  hostile  to  the  new  settle- 
ment, must  be  taken  into  the  account.  When  these 
tilings  are  fairly  weighed,  there  will,  we  think,  be  little 
difference  of  opinion  among  liberal  and  right-minded 
men  as  to  the  real  value  of  what  the  great  events  of 
1088  did  for  this  country. 

We  have  recounted  what  appear  to  us  the  most 
important  of  those  changes  which  the  Revolution 
produced  in  our  laws.  The  changes  which  it  pro- 
duced in  our  laws,  however,  were  not  more  important 
than  the  change  which  it  indirectly  produced  in  the 
public  mind.  The  Whig  party  had  during  seventy 
years,  an  almost  uninterrupted  possession  of  power. 
It  had  always  been  the  fundamental  doctrine  of  that 
party,  that  power  is  a  trust  for  the  people ;  that  it  is 
given  to  magistrates,  not  for  their  own,  but  for  the 
public  advantage ;  that,  where  it  is  abused  by  magis- 
trates, even  by  the  highest  of  all,  it  may  lawfully  be 
withdrawn.  It  is  perfectly  true,  that  the  Whigs  were 
not  more  exempt  than  other  men  from  the  vices 
and  infirmities  of  our  nature,  and  that,  when  they 
had  power,  they  sometimes  abused  it.  But  still  they 
stood  firm  to  their  theory.  That  theory  was  the 
badge  of  their  party.  It  was  something  more.  It 
was  the  foundation  on  which  rested  the  power  of  the 
houses  of  Nassau  and  Brunswick.  Thus,  there  was 
a  government  interested  in  propagating  a  class  of 
opinions  which  most  governments  are  interested  in 
discouraging,  a  government  which  looked  with  com- 
placency on  all  speculations  favourable  to  public  lib- 
erty, and  with  extreme  aversion  on  all  speculations 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  33J 

favourable  to  arbitrary  power.  There  was  a  King 
who  decidedly  preferred  a  republican  to  a  believer  in 
the  divine  right  of  kings ;  who  considered  every 
attempt  to  exalt  his  prerogative  as  an  attack  on  his 
title ;  and  who  reserved  all  his  favours  for  those  who 
declaimed  on  the  natural  equality  of  men,  and  the 
popular  origin  of  government.  This  was  the  state  of 
things  from  the  Revolution  till  the  death  of  George 
the  Second.  The  effect  was  what  might  have  beer 
expected.  Even  in  that  profession  which  has  gen- 
erally been  most  disposed  to  magnify  the  prerogative, 
a  great  change  took  place.  Bishopric  after  bishopric 
and  deanry  after  deanry  were  bestowed  on  Whigs  and 
Latitudinarians.  The  consequence  was  that  Whig- 
gism  and  Latitudinarianism  were  professed  by  the 
ablest  and  most  aspiring  churchmen. 

Hume  complained  bitterly  of  this  at  the  close  of 
his  history.  "  The  Whig  party,''  says  he,  "  for  a 
course  of  near  seventy  years,  has  almost  without  in- 
terruption enjoyed  the  whole  authority  of  government, 
and  no  honours  or  offi  jes  could  be  obtained  but  by  their 
countenance  and  protection.  But  this  event,  which 
in  some  particulars  has  been  advantageous  to  the 
state,  has  proved  destructive  to  the  truth  of  history, 
and  has  established  many  gross  falsehoods,  which  it 
,\3  unaccountable  how  any  civilised  nation  could  have 
embraced,  with  regard  to  its  domestic  occurrences. 
Compositions  the  most  despicable,  both  for  style  and 
matter,"  —  in  a  note  he  instances  the  writings  of 
Locke,  Sydney,  Hoadley,  and  Rapin, —  "have  been 
extolled  and  propagated  and  read  as  if  they  had 
equalled  the  most  celebrated  remains  of  antiquity. 
And  forgetting  that  a  regard  to  liberty,  though  a 
\&udable  passion,  ought  commonly  to  be  subservient 


332  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

to  a  reverence  for  established  government,  the  pre- 
vailing faction  has  celebrated  only  the  partisans  of 
the  former."  We  will  not  here  enter  into  an  argu- 
ment about  the  merit  of  Rapin's  History  or  Locke's 
political  speculations.  We  call  Hume  merely  as  evi- 
dence to  a  fact  well  known  to  all  reading  men,  that 
the  literature  patronised  by  the  English  Court  and 
the  English  ministry,  during  the  first  half  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  was  of  that  kind  which  courtiers 
and  ministers  generally  do  all  in  their  power  to  dis- 
countenance, and  tended  to  inspire  zeal  for  the  liber- 
ties of  the  people  rather  than  respect  for  the  authority 
of  the  government. 

There  was  still  a  veiy  strong  Tory  party  in  Eng- 
land. But  that  party  was  in  opposition.  Many  of 
its  members  still  held  the  doctrine  of  passive  obedi- 
ence. But  they  did  not  admit  that  the  existing 
dynasty  had  any.  claim  to  such  obedience.  They 
condemned  resistance.  But  by  resistance  they  meant 
the  keeping  out  of  James  the  Third,  and  not  the 
turning  out  of  George  the  Second.  No  Radical  of 
our  times  could  grumble  more  at  the  expenses  of  the 
royal  household,  could  exert  himself  more  strenuously 
to  reduce  the  military  establishment,  could  oppose 
with  more  earnestness  every  proposition  for  arming 
the  executive  with  extraordinary  powers,  or  could 
^our  more  unmitigated  abuse  on  placemen  and  cour- 
tiers If  a  writer  were  now,  in  a  massive  Dictionary, 
to  define  a  Pensioner  as  a  traitor  and  a  slave,  the 
Excise  as  a  hateful  tax,  the  Commissioners  of  the 
Excise  as  wretches,  if  he  were  to  write  a  satire  full 
of  reflections  on  men  who  receive  "  the  piice  of 
boroughs  and  of  souls,"  who  "  explain  then:  country's 
Jear -bought  rights  away,"  or 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  333 

"  whom  pensions  can  incite 
To  vote  a  patriot  black,  a  courtier  white," 

we  should  set  him  down  for  sjmething  more  demo- 
cratic than  a  Whig.  Yet  this  was  the  language  which 
Johnson,  the  most  bigoted  of  Tories  and  High  Church- 
men, held  under  the  administration  of  Walpole  and 
Pelham. 

Thus  doctrines  favourable  to  public  liberty  were  in- 
culcated alike  by  those  who  were  in  power  and  by 
those  who  were  in  opposition.  It  was  by  means  of 
these  doctrines  alone  that  the  former  could  prove  that 
they  had  a  King  de  jure.  The  servile  theories  of  the 
latter  did  not  prevent  them  from  offering  every  moles- 
tation to  one  whom  they  considered  as  merely  a  King 
de  facto.  The  attachment  of  one  party  to  the  House 
of  Hanover,  of  the  other  to  that  of  Stuart,  induced  both 
to  talk  a  language  much  more  favourable  to  popular 
rights  than  to  monarchical  power.  What  took  place 
at  the  first  representation  of  Cato  is  no  bad  illustration 
of  the  way  in  which  the  two  great  sections  of  the  com- 
munity almost  invariably  acted.  A  play,  the  whole 
merit  of  which  consists  in  its  stately  rhetoric,  a  rhetoric 
sometimes  not  unworthy  of  Lucan,  about  hating  ty- 
rants and  dying  for  freedom,  is  brought  on  the  stage  in 
a  time  of  great  political  excitement.  Both  parties 
crowd  to  the  theatre.  Each  aifects  to  consider  every 
)ine  as  a  compliment  to  itself,  and  an  attack  on  its  op- 
ponents. The  curtain  falls  amidst  an  unanimous  roar 
of  applause.  The  Whigs  of  the  Kit  Cat  embrace  the 
author,  and  assure  him  that  he  has  rendered  an  inesti- 
mable service  to  liberty.  The  Torv  secretary  of  state 
presents  a  purse  to  the  chief  actor  for  defending  the 
cause  of  liberty  so  well.  The  history  of  that  night  -was, 
In  miniature,  the  history  of  two  generations. 


834  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 

We  well  know  how  much  sophistry  there  was  in  the 
reasonings,  and  how  much  exaggeration  in  the  decla- 
mations of  both  parties.  But  when  we  compare  the 
state  in  which  political  science  was  at  the  close  of  the 
reign  of  George  the  Second  with  the  state  in  which  it 
had  been  when  James  the  Second  came  to  the  throne, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  admit  that  a  prodigious  improve- 
ment had  taken  place.  ^t^re  are  no  admirers  of  the 
political  doctrines  laid  down  in  Blackstone's  Commen- 
taries. But  if  we  consider  that  those  Commentaries 
were  read  with  great  applause  in  the  very  schools 
where,  seventy  or  eighty  years  before,  books  had  been 
publicly  burned  by  order  of  the  University  of  Oxford 
for  containing  the  damnable  doctrine  that  the  English 
monarchy  is  limited  and  mixed,  we  cannot  deny  that  a 
salutary  change  had  taken  place.  "  The  Jesuits," 
says  Pascal,  in  the  last  of  his  incomparable  letters, 
"  have  obtained  a  Papal  decree,  condemning  Galileo's 
doctrine  about  the  motion  of  the  earth.  It  is  all  in 
vain.  If  the  world  is  really  turning  round,  all  mankind 
together  will  not  be  able  to  keep  it  from  turning,  or  to 
keep  themselves  from  turning  with  it."  The  decrees 
of  Oxford  were  as  ineffectual  to v stay  the  great  moral 
?,nd  political  revolution  as  those  of  the  Vatican  to  stay 
the  motion  of  our  globe.  That  learned  University 
.bund  itself  not  only  unable  to  keep  the  mass  from 
moving,  but  unable  to  keep  itself  from  moving  along 
with  the  mass.  Nor  was  the  effect  of  the  discussions 
and  speculations  of  that  period  confined  to  our  own 
country.  While  the  Jacobite  party  was  in  the  last 
dotage  and  weakness  of  its  paralytic  old  age,  the  politi- 
cal philosophy  of  England  began  to  produce  a  mighty 
effect  on  France,  and,  through  France,  on  Europe. 

Here  another  vast  field  opens  itself  before  us.     But 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  885 

we  must  resolutely  turn  away  from  it.  We  will  con- 
clude by  advising  all  our  readers  to  study  Sir  James 
Mackintosh's  valuable  Fragment,  and  by  expressing 
our  hope  that  they  will  soon  be  able  to  study  it  without 
those  accompaniments  which  have  hitherto  impeded  ils 
circulation. 


LORD   BACON.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  July,  1837.^ 

WE  return  our  hearty  thanks  to  Mr.  Montagu  for 
this  truly  valuable  work.  From  the  opinions  which  he 
expresses  as  a  biographer  we  often  dissent.  But  about 
his  merit  as  a  collector  of  the  materials  out  of  which 
opinions  are  formed,  there  can  be  no  dispute  ;  and  we 
readily  acknowledge  that  we  are  in  a  great  measure 
indebted  to  his  minute  and  accurate  researches  for  the 
means  of  refuting  what  we  cannot  but  consider  as  his 
eiTors. 

The  labour  which  has  been  bestowed  on  this  volume 
nas  been  a  labour  of  love.  The  writer  is  evidently 
enamoured  of  the  subject.  It  fills  his  heart.  It  con- 
stantly overflows  from  his  lips  and  his  pen.  Those 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  Courts  in  which  Mr. 
Montagu  practises  with  so  much  ability  and  success 
well  know  how  often  he  enlivens  the  discussion  of  a 
point  of  law  by  citing  some  weighty  aphorism,  or  some 
brilliant  illustration,  from  the  De  Augmcntis  or  the 
Novum  Organum.  The  Life  before  us  doubtless  owes 
much  of  its  value  to  the  honest  and  generous  enthu- 
siasm of  the  writer.  This  feeling  has  stimulated  his 
activity,  has  sustained  his  perseverance,  has  called  forth 
nil  his  ingenuity  and  eloquence :  but,  on  the  other 

1   Ilit   Works  of  Francis  Bacon,  Lord  Chancellor  of  England.    A  neu 
By  B^SIL  MONTAGU,  Esq.  16  vols.  Svo.    London:  1825-1834. 


LORD  BACON.  387 

hand,  we  must  frankly  say  that  it  has,  to  a  great  extent, 
perverted  his  judgment. 

We  are  by  no  means  without  sympathy  for  Mr. 
Montagu  even  in  what  we  consider  as  his  weakness. 
TThere  is  scarcely  any  delusion  which  lias  a  better 
claim  to  bo  indulgently  treated  than  that  under  the 
influence  of  which  a  man  ascribes  every  moral  excel- 
lence to  those  who  have  left  imperishable  monuments  of 
their  genius.  The  causes  of  this  error  He  deep  in  the 
inmost  recesses  of  human  nature.  We  are  all  inclined 
to  judge  of  others  as  we  find  them.  Our  estimate  of  a 
character  always  depends  much  on  the  manner  in  which 
that  character  affects  our  own  interests  and  passions. 
We  find  it  difficult  to  think  well  of  those  by  whom  we 
are  thwarted  or  depressed ;  and  we  are  ready  to  admit 
every  excuse  for  the  vices  of  those  who  are  useful  or 
agreeable  to  us.  This  is,  we  believe,  one  of  those  illu- 
sions to  which  the  whole  human  race  is  subject,  and 
which  experience  and  reflection  can  only  partially  re- 
move. It  is,  in  the  phraseology  of  Bacon,  one  of  the 
idola  tribus.  Hence  it  is  that  the  moral  character  of  a 
man  eminent  in  letters  or  in  the  fine  arts  is  treated, 
often  by  contemporaries,  almost  always  by  posterity, 
with  extraordinary  tenderness.  The  world  derives 
pleasure  and  advantage  from  the  performances  of  suet 
a  man.  The  number  of  those  who  suffer  by  his  per- 
sonal vices  is  small,  even  in  his  own  time,  when  com- 
pared with  the  number  of  those  to  whom  his  talents  arc 
*  source  of  gratification.  In  a  few  years  all  those  whom 
&e  has  injured  disappear.  But  his  works  remain,  and 
ure  a  source  of  delight  to  millions.  The  genius  of 
Sallust  is  still  with  us.  But  the  Numidians  whom  he 
plundered,  and  the  unfortunate  husbands  who  caught 
him  in  their  houses  at  unseasonable  hours,  are  forgotten, 


338  LORD  BACON. 

We  suffer  curseh  es  to  be  delighted  by  the  keenness  of 
Clarendon's  observation,  and  by  the  sober  majesty  of 
his  style,  till  we  forget  the  oppressor  and  the  bigot  in 
the  historian.  Falstaff  and  Tom  Jones  have  survived 
the  gamekeepers  whom  Shakspeare  cudgelled  and  the 
landladies  whom  Fielding  bilked.  A  great  writer  is  the 
friend  and  benefactor  of  his  readers  ;  and  they  cannot 
but  judge  of  him  under  the  deluding  influence  of  friend- 
ship and  gratitude.  We  all  know  how  unwilling  we 
are  to  admit  the  truth  of  any  disgraceful  story  about  a 
person  whose  society  we  like,  and  from  whom  we  have 
received  favours ;  how  long  we  struggle  against  evi- 
dence, how  fondly,  when  the  facts  cannot  be  disputed, 
we  cling  to  the  hope  that  there  may  be  some  .explana- 
tion or  some  extenuating  circumstance  with  which  we 
are  unacquainted.  Just  such  is  the  feeling  which  a  man 
of  liberal  education  naturally  entertains  towards  the 
great  minds  of  former  ages.  The  debtjvvhich  he  owes 
to  them  is  incalculable.  They  have  guided  him  to 
truth.  They  have  filled  his  mind  with  noble  and 
graceful  images.  They  have  stood  by  him  in  all  vi- 
cissitudes, comforters  in  sorrow,  nurses  in  sickness, 
companions  in  solitude.  These  friendships  are  exposed 
to  no  danger  from  the  occurrences  by  which  other 
attachments  are  weakened  or  dissolved.  Time  glides 
on  ;  fortune  is  inconstant ;  tempers  are  soured  ;  bonds 
which  seemed  indissoluble  are  daily  sundered  by  inter- 
est, by  emulation,  or  by  caprice.  But  no  such  cause 
can  affect  the  silent  converse  which  we  hold  with  the 
highest  of  human  intellects.  That  placid  intercourse  is 
disturbed  by  no  jealousies  or  resentments.  These  are 
the  old  friends  who  are  never  seen  with  new  faces,  who 
are  the  same  in  wealth  and  in  poverty,  in  glory  and  in 
obscurity.  With  the  dead  there  is  no  rivalry.  In  the 


LORD  BACON.  339 

lead  there  is  no  change.  Plato  is  never  sullen.  Cer- 
vantes is  never  petulant.  Demosthenes  never  comes 
unseasonably.  Dante  never  stays  too  long.  No  dif- 
ference of  political  opinion  can  alienate  Cicero.  No 
heresy  can  excite  the  horror  of  Bossuet. 

Nothing,  then,  can  be  more  natural  than  that  a 
person  endowed  with  sensibility  and  imagination 
should  entertain  a  respectful  and  affectionate  feeling 
towards  those  great  men  with  whose  minds  he  holds 
daily  communion.  Yet  nothing  can  be  more  certain 
than  that  such  men  have  not  always  deserved  to  be 
regarded  with  respect  or  affection.  Some  writers, 
whose  works  will  continue  to  instruct  and  delight 
mankind  to  the  remotest  ages,  have  been  placed  in 
such  situations  that  their  actions  and  motives  are  as 
well  known  to  us  as  the  actions  and  motives  of  one 
human  being  can  be  known  to  another  ;  and  unhappily 
their  conduct  has  not  always  been  such  as  an  impartial 
judge  can  contemplate  with  approbation.  But  the 
fanaticism  of  the  devout  worshipper  of  genius  is  proof 
against  all  evidence  and  all  argument.  The  character 
of  his  idol  is  matter  of  faith  ;  and  the  province  of  faith 
is  not  to  be  invaded  by  reason.  He  maintains  his  su- 
perstition with  a  credulity  as  boundless,  and  a  zeal  as 
unscrupulous,  as  can  be  found  in  the  most  ardent  par- 
tisans of  religious  or  political  factions.  The  most 
decisive  proofs  are  rejected  ;  the  plainest  rules  of  moral 
ity  are  explained  away  ;  extensive  and  important  por- 
tions of  history  are  completely  distorted.  The  enthu- 
siast misrepresents  facts  with  all  the  effrontery  of  an 
advocate,  and  confounds  right  and  wrong  with  all  the 
dexterity  of  a  Jesuit ;  and  all  this  only  in  order  that 
some  man  who  has  been  in  his  grave  during  many 
*ges  may  have  a  fairer  character  than  he  deserves. 


340  LORD  BACON. 

Middleton's  Life  of  Cicero  is  a  striking  instance  of 
the  influence  of  this  sort  of  partiality.  Never  was 
there  a  character  which  it  was  easier  to  read  than  that 
of  Cicero.  Never  was  there  a  mind  keener  or  more 
critical  than  that  of  Middleton.  Had  the  biographer 
brought  to  the  examination  of  his  favourite  statesman's 
conduct  but  a  very  small  part  of  the  acuteness  and 
severity  which  he  displayed  when  he  was  engaged  in 
investigating  the  high  pretensions  of  Epiphanius  and 
Justin  Martyr,  he  could  not  have  failed  to  produce  a 
most  valuable  history  of  a  most  interesting  portion  of 
time.  But  this  most  ingenious  and  learned  man, 
though 

"  So  wary  held  and  wise 
That,  as  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 
For  gospel  what  the  church  believed," 

had  a  superstition  of  his  own.  The  great  Iconoclast 
was  himself  an  idolater.  The  great  Avvocato  del 
Diavolo,  while  he  disputed,  with  no  small  ability,  the 
claims  of  Cyprian  and  Athanasius  to  a  place  in  the 
Calendar,  was  himself  composing  a  lying  legend  in 
honour  of  St.  Tully.  He  was  holding  Tip  as  a  model 
of  every  virtue  a  man  whose  talents  and  acquirements, 
indeed,  can  never  be  too  highly  extolled,  and  who  was 
by  no  means  destitute  of  amiable  qualities,  but  whose 
whole  soul  was  under  the  dominion  of  a  girlish  vanity 
and  a  craven  fear.  Actions  for  which  Cicero  himself, 
the  most  eloquent  and  skilful  of  advocates,  could  con- 
trive no  excuse,  actions  which  in  his  confidential  cor- 
respondence he  mentioned  with  remorse  and  shame, 
are  represented  by  his  biographer  as  wise,  virtuous,' 
heroic.  The  whole  history  of  that  great  revolution 
which  overthrew  the  Roman  aristocracy,  the  whole 
state  of  parties,  the  character  of  every  public  man,  is 


LORD  BACON.  841 

elalorately  misrepresented,  in  order  k\  mate  out  some- 
thing which  may  look  like  a  defence  of  one  most  elo- 
quent and  accomplished  trimmer. 

The  volume  before  us  reminds  us  now  and  then  of 
the  Life  of  Cicero.  But  there  is  this  marked  differ- 
ence. Dr.  Middleton  evidently  had  an  uneasy  con 
sciousness  of  the  weakness  of  his  cause,  and  therefore 
resorted  to  the  most  disingenuous  shifts,  to  unpardon- 
able distortions  and  suppression  of  facts.  Mr.  Mon- 
tagu's faith  is  sincere  and  implicit.  He  practises  no 
trickery.  He  conceals  nothing.  He  puts  the  facts 
before  us  in  the  full  confidence  that  they  will  produce 
on  our  minds  the  effect  which  they  have  produced  on 
his  own.  It  is  not  till  he  comes  to  reason  from  facts 
to  motives  that  his  partiality  shows  itself;  and  then 
he  leaves  Middleton  himself  far  belund.  His  work 
proceeds  on  the  assumption  that  Bacon  was  an  emi- 
nently virtuous  man.  From  the  tree  Mr.  Montagu 
judges  of  the  fruit.  He  is  forced  to  relate  many  ac- 
tions which,  if  any  man  but  Bacon  had  committed 
them,  nobody  would  have  dreamed  of  defending,  ac- 
tions which  are  readily  and  completely  explained  by 
supposing  Bacon  to  have  been  a  man  whose  principles 
were  not  strict,  and  whose  spirit  was  not  high,  actions 
which  can  be  explained  in  no  other  way  without  re^ 
sorting  to  some  grotesque  hypothesis  for  which  there 
is  not  a  tittle  of  evidence.  But  any  hypothesis  is, 
in  Mr.  Montagu's  opinion,  more  probable  than  that  his 
hero  should  ever  have  done  any  thing  very  wrong. 

This  mode  of  defending  Bacon  seems  to  us  by  n3 
Sloans  Baconian.  To  take  a  man's  character  for 
granted,  and  then  from  his  character  to  infer  the  moral 
quality  of  all  his  actions,  is  surely  a  process  the  very 
reverse  of  that  which  is  recommended  in  the  Novum 


B42  LORD  BACON. 

Orgcmum.  Nothing,  we  are  sure,  could  have  led  Mr. 
Montagu  to  depart  so  far  from  his  master's  precepts,  ex- 
cept zeal  for  his  master's  honour.  We  shall  follow  a 
different  course.  We  shall  attempt,  with  the  valuable 
assistance  which  Mr.  Montagu  has  afforded  us,  to  frame 
such  an  account  of  Bacon's  life  as  may  enable  our 
readers  correctly  to  estimate  his  character. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Francis  Bacon  was 
the  son  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  who  held  the  great  seal 
of  England  during  the  first  twenty  years  of  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth.  The  fame  of  the  father  has  been  thrown 
into  shade  by  that  of  the  son.  But  Sir  Nicholas  was 
no  ordinary  man.  He  belonged  to  a  set  of  men  whom 
it  is  easier  to  describe  collectively  than  separately, 
whose  minds  were  formed  by  one  system  of  discipline, 
who  belonged  to  one  rank  in  society,  to  one  university, 
to  one  party,  to  one  sect,  to  one  administration,  and 
who  resembled  each  other  so  much  in  talents,  in  opin- 
ions, in  habits,  in  fortunes,  that  one  character,  we  had 
almost  said  one  life,  may,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
serve  for  them  all. 

They  were  the  first  generation  of  statesmen  by  pro- 
fession that  England  produced.  Before  their  time  the 
division  of  labour  had,  in  this  respect,  been  very  imper- 
fect. Those  who  had  directed  public  affairs  had  been, 
with  few  exceptions,  warriors  or  priests  ;  warriors  whose 
rude  courage  was  neither  guided  by  science  nor  softened 
by  humanity,  priests  whose  learning  and  abilities  were 
habitually  devoted  to  the  defence  of  tyranny  and  im- 
posture. The  Hotspurs,  the  Nevilles,  the  Cliffouls, 
rough,  illiterate,  and  unreflecting,  brought  to  the  coun- 
cil-board the  fierce  and  imperious  disposition  which  they 
had  acquired  amidst  the  tumult  of  predatory  war,  01 
n  the  gloomy  repose  of  the  garrisoned  and  moaten 


LORD  BACON.  343 

Castle.  On  the  other  side  was  the  calm  and  subtle  prel- 
ate, versed  in  all  that  was  then  considered  as  learning, 
trained  in  the  Schools  to  manage  words,  and  in  the 

O  ' 

confessional  to  manage  hearts,  seldom  superstitious,  but 
skilful  in  practising  on  the  superstition  of  others,  false, 
as  it  was  natural  that  a  man  should  be  whose  profession 
imposed  on  all  who  were  not  saints  the  necessity  of 
being  hypocrites,  selfish,  as  it  was  natural  that  a  man 
should  be  who  could  form  no  domestic  ties  and  cherish 
no  hope  of  legitimate  posterity,  more  attached  to  his 
order  than  to  his  country,  and  guiding  the  politics  of 
England  with  a  constant  side-glance  at  Rome. 

But  the  increase  of  wealth,  the  progress  of  knowl- 
edge, and  the  reformation  of  religion  produced  a  great 
change.  The  nobles  ceased  to  be  military  chieftains  ;  the 
priests  ceased  to  possess  a  monopoly  of  learning  ;  and  a 
new  and  remarkable  species  of  politicians  appeared. 

These  men  came  from  neither  of  the  Classes  which 
had,  till  then,  almost  exclusively  furnished  ministers  of 
state.  They  were  all  laymen  ;  yet  they  were  all  men 
of  learning ;  and  they  were  all  men  of  peace.  They 
were  not  members  of  the  aristocracy.  They  inherited 
no  titles,  no  large  domains,  no  armies  of  retainers,  no 
fortified  castles.  Yet  they  were  not  low  men,  such  as 
those  whom  princes,  jealous'  of  the  power  of  a  nobility, 
have  sometimes  raised  from  forges  and  cobblers'  stalls 
to  the  highest  situations.  They  were  all  gentlemen  by 
birth.  They  had  all  received  a  liberal  education.  It 
is  a  remarkable  fact  that  they  were  all  members  of  the 
same  university.  The  two  great  national  seats  of 
learning  had  "even  then  acquired  the  characters  which 
they  still  retain.  In  intellectual  activity,  and  in  readi- 
uess  to  admit  improvements,  the  superiority  was  then, 
as  it  has  ever  since  been,  on  the  side  of  the  less  ancient 


844  LORD  BACON. 

and  splendid  institution.  Cambridge  had  the  honou'1 
of  educating  those  celebrated  Protestant  Bishops  whom 
Oxford  had  the  honour  of  burning  ;  and  at  Cambridge 
were  formed  the  minds  of  all  those  statesmen  to  whom 
chiefly  is  to  be  attributed  the  secure  establishment  of 
the  reformed  religion  in  the  north  of  Europe. 

The  statesmen  of  whom  we  speak  passed  their 
youth  surrounded  by  the  incessant  din  of  theological 
controversy.  Opinions  were  still  in  a  state  of  chaotic 
anarchy,  intermingling,  separating,  advancing,  receding. 
Sometimes  the  stubborn  bigotry  of  the  Conservatives 
seemed  likely  to  prevail.  Then  the  impetuous  onset 
of  the  Reformers  for  a  moment  carried  all  before  it. 
Then  again  the  Desisting  mass  made  a  desperate  stand, 
arrested  the  movement,  and  forced  it  slowly  back. 
The  vacillation  which  at  that  time  appeared  in  Eng- 
lish legislation,  and  which  it  has  been  the  fashion  to 
attribute  to  the  caprice  and  to  the  power  of  one  or  two 
individuals,  was  truly  a  national  vacillation.  It  was 
not  only  in  the  mind  of  Henry  that  the  new  theology 
obtained  the  ascendant  one  day,  and  that  the  lessons  of 
the  nurse  and  of  the  priest  regained  their  influence  or 
the  morrow.  It  was  not  only  in  the  House  of  Tudor 
that  the  husband  was  exasperated  by  the  opposition  oJ^ 
the  wife,  that  the  son  dissented  from  the  opinions  of  thp 
father,  that  the  brother  persecuted  the  sister,  that  one 
sister  persecuted  another.  The  principles  of  Conserva- 
tion and  Reform  carried  on  their  warfare  in  every  part 
of  society,  in  every  congregation,  in  every  school  of 
learning,  round  the  hearth  of  every  private  family,  in 
the  recesses  of  every  reflecting  mind. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  ferment  that  the  minds  of 
the  persons  Avhom  we  are  describing  were  developed, 
They  were  born  Reformers.  They  belonged  by  na- 


LORD  BACON.  345 

hire  to  that  order  of  men  who  always  form  the  front 
ranks  in  the  great  intellectual  progress.  They  were, 
therefore,  one  and  all,  Protestants.  In  religions  mat- 
ters, however,  though  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
they  were  sincere,  they  were  by  no  means  zealous. 
None  of  them  chose  to  run  the  smallest  personal  risk 
during  the  reign  of  Mary.  None  of  them  favoured 
the  unhappy  attempt  of  Northumberland  in  favour  of 
his  daughter-in-law.  None  of  them  shared  in  the  des- 
perate councils  of  Wyatt.  They  contrived  to  have 
business  on  the  Continent ;  or,  if  they  staid  in  England, 
they  heard  mass  and  kept  Lent  with  great  decorum. 
When  those  dark  and  periloiis  years  had  gone  by,  and 
when  the  crown  had  descended  to  a  new  sovereign, 
they  took  the  lead  in  the  reformation  of  the  Church. 
But  they  proceeded,  not  with  the  impetuosity  of  theo- 
logians, but  with  the  calm  determination  of  statesmen. 
They  acted,  not  like  men  who  considered  the  Romish 
•worship  as  a  system  too  offensive  to  God,  and  too  de- 
structive of  souls  to  be  tolerated  for  an  hour,  but  like 
men  who  regarded  the  points  in  dispute  among  Chris- 
tians as  in  themselves  unimportant,  and  who  were  not 
restrained  by  any  scruple  of  conscience  from  professing, 
as  they  had  before  professed,  the  Catholic  faith  of  Mary, 
the  Protestant  faith  of  Edward,  or  any  of  the  numerous 
intermediate  combinations  which  the  caprice  of  Henry 
and  the  servile  policy  of  Cranmer  had  formed  out  of 
the  doctrines  of  both  the  hostile  parties.  They  took  a 
deliberate  view  of  the  state  of  their  own  country  and 
of  the  Continent :  they  satisfied  themselves  as  to  the 
leaning  of  the  public  mind ;  and  they  chose  their  side. 
They  placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  the  Protestants 
of  Europe,  and  staked  all  their  fame  and  fortunes  or 
*Jie  success  of  their  party. 


846  LORD  BACON. 

It  is  needless  to  relate  how  dexterously,  how  reso 
(utely,  how  gloriously  they  directed  the  politics  of  Eng- 
land during  the  eventful  years  which  followed,  how 
they  succeeded  in  uniting  their  friends  and  separating 
their  enemies,  how  they  humbled  the  pride  of  Philip, 
how  they  backed  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  Coligni, 
how  they  rescued  Holland  from  tyranny,  how  they 
founded  the  maritime  greatness  of  their  country,  how 
they  outwitted  the  artful  politicians  of  Italy,  and  tamed 
the  ferocious  chieftains  of  Scotland.  It  is  impossible  to 
deny  that  they  committed  many  acts  which  would 
iustly  bring  on  a  statesman  of  our  time  censures  of  the 
most  serious  kind.  But,  when  we  consider  the  state 
of  morality  in  their  age,  and  the  unscrupulous  charac- 
ter of  the  adversaries  against  whom  they  had  to  con- 
tend, we  are  forced  to  admit  that  it  is  not  without  rea- 
son that  their  names  are  still  held  in  veneration  by  their 
countrymen. 

There  were,  doubtless,,  many  diversities  in  their 
intellectual  and  moral  character.  But  there  was  a 
strong  family  likeness.  The  constitution  of  their 
minds  was  remarkably  sound.  No  particular  faculty 
was  preeminently  developed  ;  but  manly  health  and 
vigour  were  equally  diffused  through  the  whole.  They 
were  men  of  letters.  Their  minds  were  by  nature 
and  by  exercise  well  fashioned  for  speculative  pur- 
suits. It  was  by  circumstances,  rather  than,  by  any 
strong  bias  of  inclination,  that  they  were  led,  to  take 
a  prominent  part  in  active  life.  In 'active  life,  how- 
ever, no  men  could  be  more  perfectly  free  from  the 
faults  of  mere  theorists  and  pedants.  No  men  ob- 
served more  accurately  the  signs  of  the  times.  Nc 
men  had  a  greater  practical  acquaintance  with  hu- 
man nature.  Their  policy  was  generally  characterized 


LORD  BACON.  341 

rather  by  vigilance,  by  moderation,  and  by  firmness, 
than  by  invention,  or  by  the  spirit  of  enterprise. 

They  spoke  and  wrote  in  a  manner  worthy  of  their 
excellent  sense.  Their  eloquence  was  less  cor.ious  and 
less  ingenious,  but  far  purer  and  more  manly  than  that 
of  the  succeeding  generation.  It  was  the  eloquence  of 
men  who  had  lived  with  the  first  translators  of  the 
Bible,  and  with  the  authors  of  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer.  It  was  luminous,  dignified,  solid,  and  very' 
slightly  tainted  with  that  affectation  which  deformed 
the  style  of  the  ablest  men  of  the  next  age.  If,  as 
sometimes  chanced,  these  politicians  were  under  the 
necessity  of  taking  a  part  in  the  theological  contro- 
versies on  which  the  dearest  interests  of  kingdoms 
were  then  staked,  they  acquitted  themselves  as  if 
their  whole  lives  had  been  passed  in  the  Schools  and 
the  Convocation. 

There  was  something  in  the  temper  of  these  cele- 
brated men  which  secured  them  against  the  proverbial 
inconstancy  both  of  the  court  and  of  the  multitude. 
No  intrigue,  no  combination  of  rivals,  could  deprive 
them  of  the  confidence  of  their  Sovereign.  No  par- 
liament attacked  their  influence.  No  mob  coupled 
their  names  with  any  odious  grievance.  Their  power 
ended  only  with  their  lives.  In  this  respect,  their  fate 
presents  a  most  remarkable  contrast  to  that  of  the  en- 
terprising and  brilliant  politicians  of  the  preceding  and 
cf  the  succeeding  generation.  Burleigh  was  minister 
during  forty  years.  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon  held  the  great 
seal  more  than  twenty  years.  Sir  Walter  Mildmay 
was  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  twenty-three  years. 
Sir  Thomas  Smith  was  Secretary  of  State  eighteen 
^ears  ;  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  about  as  long.  They 
ill  died  in  office,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  public  re* 


848  LORD  BACON. 

spcct  and  royal  favour.  Far  different  liad  been  the 
fate  of  Wolscy,  Cromwell,  Norfolk,  Somerset,  and 
Northumberland.  Far  different  also  was  the  fate  of 
Essex,  of  Raleigh,  and  of  the  still  more  illustrious 
man  whose  life  we  propose  to  consider. 

The  explanation  of  this  circumstance  is  perhaps  con- 
tained in  the  motto  which  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon  inscribed 
over  the  entrance  of  his  hall  at  Gorhambury,  Medio- 
cria  firma.  This  maxim  was  constantly  borne  in 
mind  by  himself  and  his  colleagues.  They  were  more 
solicitous  to  lay  the  foundations  of  their  power  deep 
than  to  raise  the  structure  to  a  conspicuous  but  inse- 
cure height.  None  of  them  aspired  to  be  sole  Minis- 
ter. None  of  them  provoked  envy  by  an  ostentatious 
display  of  wealth  and  influence.  None  of  them  af- 
fected to  outshine  the  ancient  aristocracy  of  the  king- 
dom. They  were  free  from  that  childish  love  of  titles 
which  characterized  the  successful  courtiers  of  the  gen- 
eration which  preceded  them,  and  of  that  which  fol- 
lowed them.  Only  one  of  those  whom  we  have  named 
was  made  a  peer ;  and  he  wras  content  with  the  lowest 
degree  of  the  peerage.  As  to  money,  none  of  them 
could,  in  that  age,  justly  be  considered  as  rapacious. 
Some  of  them  would,  even  in  our  time,  deserve  the 
praise  of  eminent  disinterestedness.  Their  fidelity  to 
die  State  -was  incorruptible.  Their  private  morals 
were  without  stain.  Their  households  were  sober  and 
well-governed. 

Among  these  statesmen  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon  was  gen- 
erally considered  as  ranking  next  to  Burleigh.  He  was 
called  by  Camden  "  Sacris  conciliis  alterum  columen  ;' 
Hid  by  George  Buchanan, 

"  diu  Britannici 
Eegni  secundum  columen." 


LOUD  BACON.  3>19 

The  second  wife  of  Sir  Nicholas  and  mother  of  Fran- 
cis Bacon  was  Anne,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Sir  An- 
thony Cooke,  a  man  of  distinguished  learning  who  had 
been  tutor  to  Edward  the  Sixth.  Sir  Anthony  had 
paid  considerable  attention  to  the  education  of  his 
daughters,  and  lived  to  see  them  all  splendidly  and  hap- 
pily married.  Their  classical  acquirements  made  them 
conspicuous  even  among  the  women  of  fashion  of  that 
age.  Katherine,  who  became  Lady  Killigrew,  wrote 
Latin  Hexameters  and  Pentameters  which  would  appear 
with  credit  in  the  Musce  Etonenses.  Mildred,  the  wife 
of  Lord  Burleigh,  Avas  described  by  Roger  Ascham  as 
the  best  Greek  scholar  among  the  young  women  of 
England,  Lady  Jane  Grey  always  excepted.  Anne, 
the  mother  of  Francis  Bacon,  was  distinguished  both  as 
a  linguist  and  as  a  theologian.  She  corresponded  in 
Greek  with  Bishop  Jewel,  and  translated  his  Apologia 
from  the  Latin,  so  correctly  that  neither  he  nor  Arch- 
bishop Parker  could  suggest  a  single  alteration.  She 
also  translated  a  series  of  sermons  on  fate  and  free- 
will from  the  Tuscan  of  Bernardo  Ochino.  This  fact 
is  the  more  curious,  because  Ochino  was  one  of  that 
small  and  audacious  band  of  Italian  reformers,  anathe- 
matized alike  by  Wittenberg,  by  Geneva,  by  Zurich, 
and  by  Rome,  from  which  the  Socinian  sect  deduces  its 
origin. 

Lady  Bacon  was  doubtless  a  lady  of  highly  cultivated 
mind  after  the  fashion  of  her  age.  But  we  must  not 
Buffer  ourselves  to  be  deluded  into  the  belief  that  she 
and  her  sisters  were  more  accomplished  women  than 
many  who  are  now  living.  On  this  subject  there  is,  we 
think,  much  misapprehension.  We  have  often  heard 
men  who  wish,  as  almost  all  men  of  sense  wish,  that 
'vomen  should  be  highly  educated,  speak  with  rapture  of 


350  LORD  BACON. 

the  English  ladies  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  lament 
that  they  can  find  no  modern  damsel  resembling 
those  fair  pupils  of  Ascham  and  Aylmer  who  compared, 
over  their  embroidery,  the  styles  of  Isocrates  and  Lyf> 
las,  and  who,  while  the  horns  were  sounding  and  the 
dogs  in  f\jll  ciy,  sat  in  the  lonely  oriel,  with  eyes  rivet  ted 
to  that  immortal  page  which  tells  how  meekly  and 
bravely  the  first  great  martyr  of  intellectual  liberty  took 
the  cup  from  his  weeping  gaoler.  But  surely  these  com- 
plaints have  very  little  foundation.  We 'would  by  no 
means  disparage  the  ladies  of  the  sixteenth  century  er 
then*  pursuits.  But  we  conceive  that  those  who  extol 
them  at  the  expense  of  the  women  of  our  time  forget 
one  very  obvious  and  very  important  circumstance.  In 
the  tune  of  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Edward  the  Sixth, 
a  person  who  did  not  read  Greek  and  Latin  could 
read  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing.  The  Italian  was 
the  only  modem  language  which  possessed  any  thing 
that  could  be  called  a  literature.  All  the  valuable- 
books  then  extant  in  all  the  vernacular  dialects  of  Eu- 
rope would  hardly  have  filled  a  single  shelf.  England 
did  not  yet  possess  Shakspeare's  plays  and  the  Fairy 
Queen,  nor  France  Montaigne's  Essays,  nor  Spain  Don 
Quixote.  In  looking  round  a  well-furnished  library, 
how  many  English  or  French  books  can  we  find  which 
were  extant  when  Lady  Jane  Grey  and  Queen  Eliza- 
beth received  their  education  ?  Chaucer,  G  ower, 
Froissart,  Comines,  Rabelais,  nearly  complete  the  list. 
It  was  therefore  absolutely  necessary  that  a  woman 
should  be  uneducated  or  classically  educated.  Indeed, 
mthout  a  knowledge  of  one  of  the  ancient  languages 
no  person  could  then  have  any  clear  notion  of  what 
was  passing  in  the  political,  the  literary,  or  the  religious 
world.  The  Latin  was  in  the  sixteenth  century  ali 


LORD  BACON.  351 

Mid  more  than  all  tliat  the   French  was  in  the  eio;h- 

O 

teenth.  It  was  the  language  of  courts  as  well  as  cf  the 
schools.  It  was  the  language  of  diplomacy  ;  it  was  the 
'language  of  theological  and  political  controversy.  Be- 
ing a  fixed  language,  while  the  living  languages  were 
in  a  state  of  fluctuation,  and  being  universally  kno*vn 
to  the  learned  and  the  polite,  it  was  employed  by  al- 
most every  writer  who  aspired  to  a  wide  and  durable, 
reputation.  A  person  who  wa^  ignorant  of  it  was  shut 
out  from  all  acquaintance,  not  merely  with  Cicero  and 
Virgil,  not  merely  with  heavy  treatises  on  canon-law 
and  school-divinity,  but  with  the  most  interesting  me- 
moirs, state  papers,  and  pamphlets  of  his  own  time,  nay 
even  with  the  most  admired  poetry  and  the  most  popu- 
lar squibs  which  appeared  on  the  fleeting  topics  of  the 
day,  with  Buchanan's  complimentary  verses,  with 
Erasmus's  dialogues,  with  Hutten's  epistles. 

This  is  no  longer  the  case.  All  political  and  relig- 
ious controversy  is  now  conducted  in  the  modern  lan- 
guages. The  ancient  tongues  are  used  only  in  com- 
ments on  the  ancient  writers.  The  great  productions 
of  Athenian  and  Roman  genius  are  indeed  still  what 
•  they  were.  But  though  their  positive  value  is  un- 
changed, their  relative  value,  when  compared  with  the 
whole  mass  of  mental  wealth  possessed  by  mankind, 
has  been  constantly  falling.  They  were  the  intellect- 
ual all  of  our  ancestors.  They  are  but  a  part  of  our 
treasures.  Over  what  tragedy  could  Lady  Jane  Grey 
have  wept,  over  what  comedy  could  she  have  smiled, 
if  the  ancient  dramatists  had  not  been  in  her  library  ? 
A  modem  reader  can  make  shift  without  CEdipus  and 
Medea,  while  he  possesses  Othello  and  Hamlet.  If  he 
knows  nothing  of  Pyrgopolynices  and  Thraso,  he  is 
laraiUar  with  Bobadil,  and  Bessus,  and  Pistol,  and 


852  LORD  BACON. 

Parolles.  If  he  cannot  enjoy  the  delicious  irony  of 
Plato,  he  may  find  some  compensation  in  that  of  Pas- 
cal. If  he  is  shut  out  from  Ncphelococcygia,  lie  may 
take  refuge  in  Lilliput.  We  are  guilty,  we  hope,  of 
no  irreverence  towards  those  great  nations  to  which  the 
human  race  owes  art,  science,  taste,  civil  and  intel- 
lectual freedom,  when  we  say,  that  the  stock  be- 
queathed by  them  to  us  has  been  so  carefully  improved 
that  the  accumulated  interest  noAv  exceeds  the  princi- 
pal. We  believe  that  the  books  which  have  been 
written  in  the  languages  of  western  Europe,  during  the 
last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  —  translations  from 
the  ancient  languages  of  course  included,  —  are  of 
greater  value  than  all  the  books  which  at  the  beginning 
of  that  period  were  extant  in  the  world.  With  the 
modern  languages  of  Europe  English  women  are  at 
least  as  well  acquainted  as  English  men.  When,  there- 
fore, we  compare  the  acquirements  of  Lady  Jane  Grey 
with  those  of  an  accomplished  young  woman  of  our 
own  time,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  awarding  the 
superiority  to  the  latter.  We  hope  that  our  readers 
will  pardon  this  digression.  It  is  long ;  but  it  can 
hardly  be  called  unseasonable,  if  it  tends  to  convince 
them  that  they  are  mistaken  in  thinking  that  the 
great-great-grandmothers  of  their  great-great-grand- 
mothers  were  superior  women  to^their  sisters  and  their 
wives. 

Francis  Bacon,  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Nicholas,  Avas 
born  at  York  House,  his  father's  residence  in  the 
Strand,  on  the  twenty-second  of  January,  1561.  The 
health  of  Francis  was  very  delicate ;  and  to  this  cir- 
cumstance may  be  partly  attributed  that  gravity  of 
carriage,  and  that  love  of  sedentary  pursuits,  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  other  boys.  Every  body  knows 


LORD  BACON.  35S 

now  much  his  premature  readiness  of  wit  and  sobriety 
of  deportment  amused  the  Queen,  and  IIOAV  she  used  to 
call  him  her  young  Lord  Keeper.  We  are  told  that, 
while  still  a  mere  child,  he  stole  away  from  his  playfel- 
lows to  a  vault  in  St.  James's  Fields,  for  the  purpose  of 
investigating  the  cause  of  a  singular  echo  which  he  had 
observed  there.  It  is  certain  that,  at  only  twelve,  he 
busied  himself  with  very  ingenious  speculations  on  the 
art  of  legerdemain ;  a  subject  which,  as  Professor 
Dugald  Stewart  has  most  justly  observed,  merits  much 
more  attention  from  philosophers  than  it  has  ever  re- 
ceived. These  are  trifles.  But  the  eminence  which 
Bacon  afterwards  attained  makes  them  interesting. 

In  the  thirteenth  year  of  his  age  he  was  entered  at 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  That  celebrated  school 
of  learning  enjoyed  the  peculiar  favour  of  the  Lord 
Treasurer  and  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  acknowledged  the 
advantages  which  it  derived  from  their  patronage  in  a 
public  letter  which  bears  date  just  a  month  after  the 
admission  of  Francis  Bacon.  The  master  was  Whit- 
gift,  afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  a  narrow- 
minded,  mean,  and  tyrannical  priest,  who  gained  power 
by  servility  and  adulation,  and  employed  it  in  persecut- 
ing both  those  who  agreed  with  Calvin  about  Church 
Government,  and  those  who  differed  from  Calvin 
touching  the  doctrine  of  Reprobation.  He  was  now  in 
a  chrysalis  state,  putting  off  the  worm  and  putting  on 
the  dragon-fly,  a  kind  of  intermediate  grub  between 
sycophant  and  oppressor.  He  was  indemnifying  him- 
self for  the  court  which  he  found  it  expedient  to  pay  to 
the  Ministers  by  exercising  much  petty  tyranny  within 
his  own  college.  It  would  bf  unjust,  however,  to  deny 
him  the  praise  of  having  rendered  about  this  time  one 
important  service  to  letters.  He  stood  up  manfully 


854  LORD  BACOX. 

Rgaiust  those  who  wished  to  make  Trinity  College  a 
mere  appendage  to  Westminster  School ;  and  by  this 
act,  the  only  good  act,  as  far  as  we  remember,  of  his 
long  public  life,  he  saved  the  noblest  place  of  education 
in  England  from  the  degrading  fate  of  King's  College 
and  New  College. 

It  lias  often  been  said  that  Bacon,  while  still  at 
College,  planned  that  great  intellectual  revolution  with 
which  his  name  is  inseparably  connected.  The  evi- 
dence on  this  subject,  however,  is  hardly  sufficient  to 
prove  what  is  in  itself  so  improbable  as  that  any  defi- 
nite scheme  of  that  kind  should  have  been  so  early 
formed.,  even  by  so  powerful  and  active  a  mind.  But 
it  is  certain  that,  after  a  residence  of  three  years  at 
Cambridge,  Bacon  departed,  carrying  with  him  a  pro- 
found contempt  for  the  course  of  study  pursued  there, 
a  fixed  conviction  that  the  system  of  academic  educa- 
tion in  England  was  radically  vicious,  a  just  scorn  for 
the  trifles  on  which  the  followers  of  Aristotle  had 
wasted  their  powers,  and  no  great  reverence  for  Aris- 
totle himself. 

In  his  sixteenth  year  he  visited  Paris,  and  resided 
there  for  some  time,  under  the  care  of  Sir  Amias  Pau- 
let,  Elizabeth's  minister  at  the  French  court,  and  one 
of  the  ablest  and  most  upright  of  the  many  valuable 
•ervants  whom  she  employed.  France  was  at  that 
time  in  a  deplorable  state  of  agitation.  The  Huguenots 
and  the  Catholics  were  mustering  all  their  force  for 
the  fiercest  and  most  protracted  of  their  many  strug- 
gl?s  ;  while  the  Prince,  whose  duty  it  was  to  protect 
and  to  rastrain  both,  had  by  his  vices  and  follies,  de- 
graded himself  so  deeply  that  he  had  no  authority  over 
dither.  Bacon,  however,  made  a  tour  through  several 
provinces,  and  appears  to  have  passed  some  time  at 


LORD   BACOX.  355 

Poitiers.  We  have  abundant  proof  that  during  his 
stay  on  the  Continent  he  did  not  neglect  literary  and 
scientific  pursuits.  But  his  attention  seems  to  have 
been  chiefly  directed  to  statistics  and  diplomacy.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  he  wrote  those  Notes  on  the  State 
of  Europe  which  are  printed  in  his  works.  He  studied 
the  principles  of  the  art  of  deciphering  with  great 
interest,  and  invented  one  cipher  so  ingenious  that, 
many  years  later,  he  thought  it  deserving  of  a  place  in 
the  De  Auc/mentis.  In  February,  1580,  while  engaged 
in  these  pursuits,  he  received  intelligence  of  the  almost 
sudden  death  of  his  father,  and  instantly  returned  to 
England. 

His  prospects  were  greatly  overcast  by  this  event. 
He  was  most  desirous  to  obtain  a  provision  which  might 
enable  him  to  devote  himself  to  literature  and  politics. 
He  applied  to  the  Government ;  and  it  seems  strange 
that  he  should  have  applied  in  vain.  His  wishes  were 
moderate.  His  hereditary  claims  on  the  administration 
were  great.  He  had  himself  been  favourably  noticed 
by  the  Queen.  His  uncle  was  Prime  Minister.  His 
own  talents  were  such  as  any  minister  might  have  been 
\>ager  to  enlist  in  the  public  service.  But  his  solicita- 
tions were  unsuccessful.  The  truth  is  that  the  Cecils 
disliked  him,  and  did  all  that  they  could  decently  do  to 
keep  him  down.  It  has  never  been  alleged  that  Bacon 
had  done  any  thing  to  merit  this  dislike ;  nor  is  it  at  all 
probable  that  a  man  whose  temper  was  naturally  mild, 
whose  manners  were  courteous,  who,  through  life, 
nursed  his  fortunes  with  tne  utmost  care,  and  who  was 
fearful  even  to  a  fault  of  offending  the  powerful,  would 
have  given  any  just  cause  of  displeasure  to  a  Jdnsman 
who  had  the  means  of  rendering  him  essential  service 
ind  of  doing  him  irreparable  injury.  The  real  expla- 


356  LORD  BACOX. 

nation,  we  believe,  is  this.  Robert  Cecil,  the  Treasurer's 
second  son,  was  younger  by  a  few  months  than  Bacon 
He  had  been  educated  with  the  utmost  care,  had  been 
initiated  while  still  a  boy,  in  the  mysteries  of  diplomacy 
and  court-intrigue,  and  was  just  at  this  time  about  to 
be  produced  on  the  stage  of  public  life.  The  wish 
nearest  to  Burleigh's  heart  was  that  his  own  greatness 
might  descend  to  this  favourite  child.  But  even  Bur- 
leigh's fatherly  partiality  could  hardly  prevent  him  from 
perceiving  that  Robert,  with  all  his  abilities  and  ac- 
quirements,, was  no  match  for  his  cousin  Francis.  This 
seems  to  us  the  only  rational  explanation  of  the  Treas- 
urer's conduct.  Mr.  Montagu  is  more  charitable.  He 
supposes  that  Burleigh  was  influenced  merely  by  affec- 
tion for  his  nephew,  and  wras  "  little  disposed  to  encour- 
age him  to  rely  on  others  rather  than  on  himself,  and 
to  venture  on  the  quicksands  of  politics,  instead  of  the 
certain  profession  of  the  law."  If  such  were  Bur- 
leigh's feelings,  it  seems  strange  that  he  should  have 
suffered  his  son  to  venture  on  those  quicksands  from 
which  he  so  carefully  preserved  his  nephew.  But  the 
truth  is  that,  if  Burleigh  had  been  so  disposed,  he  might 
easily  have  secured  to  Bacon  a  comfortable  provision 
which  should  have  been  exposed  to  no  risk.  And  it  is 
certain  that  he  showed  as  little  disposition  to  enable  his 
nephew  to  live  by  a  profession  as  to  enable  him  to  live 
without  a  profession.  That  Bacon  himself  attributed 
the  conduct  of  his  relatives  to  jealousy  of  his  superior 
talents,  we  have  not  the  smallest  doubt.  In  a  letter 
written  many  years  later  to  Villiers,  he  expresses  him- 
uelf  thus :  "  Countenance,  encourage,  and  advance  able 
men  in  all  kinds,  degrees,  and  professions.  For  in  the 
time  of  the  Cecils,  the  father  and  the  son,  able  men 
were  by  design  and  of  purpose  suppressed." 


LORD  BACON.  357 

Whatever  Burleigh's  motives  might  be,  his  purpose 
»vas  unalterable.  The  supplications  which  Francis  ad- 
dressed to  his  uncle  and  aunt  were  earnest,  humble,  and 
almost  servile.  He  was  the  most  promising  and  accom- 
plished young  man  of  his  time.  His  father  had  been 
the  brother-ill -Jaw,  the  most  useful  colleague,  the  near- 
est friend  of  the  Minister.  But  all  this  availed  poor 
Francis  nothing.  He  was  forced,  much  against  his  will, 
to  betake  himself  to  the  study  of  the  law.  He  was  ad- 
mitted at  Gray's  Inn ;  and,  during  some  years  he 
laboured  there  in  obscurity. 

What  the  extent  of  his  legal  attainments  may  have 
been  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  was  not  hard  for  a  man 
of  his  powers  to  acquire  that  very  moderate  portion  of 
technical  knowledge  which,  when  joined  to  quickness, 
tact,  wit,  ingenuity,  eloquence,  and  knowledge  of  the 
world,  is  sufficient  to  raise  an  advocate  to  the  highest 
professional  eminence.  The  general  opinion  appears 
to  have  been  that  which  was  on  one  occasion  expressed 
by  Elizabeth.  "  Bacon,"  said  she,  "hath  a  great  wit 
and  much  learning ;  but  in  law  showeth  to  the  utter- 
most of  his  knowledge,  and  is  not  deep."  The  Cecils, 
we  suspect,  did  their  best  to  spread  this  opinion  by 
whispers  and  insinuations.  Coke  openly  proclaimed  it 
with  that  rancorous  insolence  which  w7as  habitual  to 
him.  No  reports  are  more  readily  believed  than  those 
vhich  disparage  genius,  and  soothe  the  envy  of  con- 
scious mediocrity.  It  must  have  been  inexpressibly 
consoling  to  a  stupid  sergeant,  the  forerunner  of  him 
who,  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  later,  "  shook  his  head 
at  Murray  as  a  wit,"  to  know  that  the  most  profound 
thinker  and  the  most  accomplished  orator  of  the  age 
was  very  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  law  touching 
Bastard  eigne  and  muUer  puisnt,  and  confounded 


858  LORD  BACON. 

the  right   of   free  fishery  with   that   of   common   of 
piscary. 

It  is  certain   that  no  man   in  that  are,  or  indeed 

O      ' 

during  the  century  and  a  half  which  followed,  was 
better  acquainted  than  Bacon  with  the  philosophy  of 
law.  His  technical  knowledge  was  quite  sufficient, 
with  the  help  of  his  admirable  talents  and  of  his  insin- 
uating address,  to  procure  clients.  He  rose  very  rap- 
idly into  business,  and  soon  entertained  hopes  of  being 
called  within  the  bar.  He  applied  to  Lord  Burleigh 
for  that  purpose,  but  received  a  testy  refusal.  Of  the 
grounds  of  that  refusal  we  can,  in  some  measure,  judge 
by  Bacon's  answer,  which  is  still  extant.  It  seems 
that  the  old  Lord,  whose  temper  age  and  gout  had  by 
no  means  altered  for  the  better,  and  who  loved  to  mark 
his  dislike  of  the  showy,  quick-witted  young  men  of 
the  rising  generation,  took  this  opportunity  to  read 
Francis  a  very  sharp  lecture  on  his  vanity  and  want 
of  respect  for  liis  betters.  Francis  returned  a  most 
submissive  reply,  thanked  the  Treasurer  for  the  admo- 
nition, and  promised  to  profit  by  it.  Strangers  mean- 
while were  less  unjust  to  the  young  barrister  than  his 
nearest  kinsman  had  been.  In  his  twenty-sixth  year 
ue  became  a  bencher  of  his  Inn  ;  and  two  years  later 
he  was  appointed  Lent  reader.  At  length  in  1590,  hc3 
obtained  for  the  first  time  some  show  of  favour  from 
the  Court.  He  was  sworn  in  Queen's  Counsel  extra- 
ordinary. But  this  mark  of  honour  was  not  accom- 
panied by  any  pecuniary  emolument.  He  continued, 
tuerefore,  to  solicit  his  powerful  relatives  for  some  pro- 
rision  which  might  enable  him  to  live  without  drudging 
at  liis  profession.  He  bore,  with  a  patience  and  serenity 
which,  we  fear,  .bordered  on  meanness,  the  morose 
humours  of  his  uncle,  and  the  sneering  reflections  which 


LORD  BACOtf.  859 

nis  cousin  cast  on  speculative  men,  lost  in  philosophical 
dreams,  and  too  wise  to  Le  capable  of  transacting  public 
business.  At  length  the  Cecils  were  generous  enough 
to  procure  for  him  the  reversion  of  the  Registrarship 
of  the  Star  Chamber.  This  was  a  lucrative  place  ; 
but,  as  many  years  elapsed  before  it  fell  in,  he  was 
still  under  the  necessity  of  labouring  for  his  daily  bread. 
In  the  Parliament  which  was  called  in  1593  he 
sat  as  member  for  the  county  of  Middlesex,  and  soon 
attained  eminence  as  a  debater.  It  is  easy  to  perceive 
fixm  the  scanty  remains  of  his  oratory  that  the  same 
compactness  of  expression  and  richness  of  fancy  which 
appear  in  his  writings  characterized  his  speeches ;  and 
that  his  extensive  acquaintance  with  literature  and 
history  enabled  him  to  entertain  his  audience  with  a 
vast  variety  of  illustrations  and  allusions  which  were 
generally  happy  and  apposite,  but  which  were  prob- 
ably not  least  pleasing  to  the  taste  of  that  age  when 
they  were  such  as  would  now  be  thought  childish  or 
pedantic.  It  is  evident  also  that  he  was,  as  indeed 
might  have  been  expected,  perfectly  free  from  those 
raults  which  are  generally  found  in  an  advocate  who, 
after  having  risen  to  eminence  at  the  bar,  enters  the 
House  of  Commons ;  that  it  was  his  habit  to  deal  with 
every  great  question,  not  in  small  detached  portions, 
but  as  a  whole ;  that  he  refined  little,  and  that  his 
reasonings  were  those  of  a  capacious  rather  than  a 
tiubtle  mind.  Ben  Jonso'n,  a  most  unexceptionable 
judge,  has  described  Bacon's  eloquence  in  words, 
.vhicli,  though  often  quoted,  will  bear  to  be  quoted 
igain.  "  There  happened  in  my  time  one  noble 
speaker  who  was  full  of  gravity  in  his  speaking.  Ilia 
language,  where  he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a  jest,  wag 
ttobly  censorious.  No  man  ever  spoke  more  neatly, 


360  LORD  BACON. 

more  pressly,  more  weightily,  or  suffered  less  empti- 
ness, less  idleness,  in  what  he  uttered.  No  member 
of  his  speech  but  consisted  of  his  own  graces.  Hig 
hearers  could  not  cough  or  look  aside  from  him  with- 
out loss.  He  commanded  where  he  spoke,  and  had 
his  judges  angry  and  pleased  at  his  devotion.  No 
man  had  their  affections  more  in  his  power.  The 
fear  of  every  man  that  heard  him  was  lest  he  should 
make  an  end."  From  the  mention  which  is  made  of 
judges,  it  would  seem  that  Jonson  had  heard  Bacon 
only  at  the  Bar.  Indeed  we  imagine  that  the  House 
of  Commons  was  then  almost  inaccessible  to  strangers. 
It  is  not  probable  that  a  man  of  Bacon's  nice  observa- 
tion would  speak  in  Parliament  exactly  as  he  spoke  in 
the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench.  ^But  the  graces  of  man- 
ner and  language  must,  to  a  great  extent,  have  been 
common  between  the  Queen's  Counsel  and  the  Knight 
of  the  Shire. 

Bacon  tried  to  play  a  very  difficult  game  in  politics. 
He  wished  to  be  at  once  a  favourite  at  Court  and 
popular  with  the  multitude.  If  any  man  could  have 
succeeded  in  this  attempt,  a  man  of  talents  so  rare, 
of  judgment  so  prematurely  ripe,  of  temper  so  calm, 
and  of  manners  so  plausible,  might  have  been  expected 
to  succeed.  Nor  indeed  did  he  wholly  fail.  Once, 
.however,  he  indulged  in  a  burst  of  patriotism  which 
cost  him  a  long  and  bitter  remorse,  and  which  he 
never  ventured  to  repeat.  The  Court  asked  for  large 
siibsidies  and  for  speedy  payment.  The  remains  of 
Bacon's  speech  breathe  all  the  spirit  of  the  Long  Par- 
liament. "The  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "must  sell  their 
plate,  and  the  farmers  their  brass  pots,  ere  this  will 
be  paid ;  and  for  us,  we  are  here  to  search  the  wounds 
of  the  realm,  and  not  to  skim  them  over.  The  dangers 


LORD  BACON.  361 

are  these.  First,  we  shall  breed  discontent  and  en- 
danger her  Majesty's  safety,  which  must  consist  more 
in  the  love  of  the  people  than  their  wealth.  Secondly, 
this  being  granted  in  this  sort,  other  princes  hereafter 
will  look  for  the  like ;  so  that  we  shall  put  an  evil 
precedent  on  ourselves  and  our  posterity :  and  in  his- 
tories, it  is  to  be  observed,  of  all  nations  the  English 
are  not  to  be  subject,  base,  or  taxable."  The  Queen 
and  her  ministers  resented  this  outbreak  of  public 
spirit  in  the  highest  manner.  Indeed,  many  an  honest 
member  of  the  House  of  Commons  had,  for  a  much 
smaller  matter,  been  sent  to  the  Tower  by  the  proud 
ind  hot-blooded  Tudors.  The  young  patriot  conde- 
scended to  make  the  most  alikject  apologies.  He  ad- 
jured the  Lord  Treasurer  to  show  some  favour  to  his 
poor  servant  and  ally.  He  bemoaned  himself  to  the 
Lord  Keeper,  in  a  letter  which  may  keep  in  counte- 
nance the  most  unmanly  of  the  epistles  which  Cicero 
wrote  during;  his  banishment.  The  lesson  was  not 

O 

thrown  away.  Bacon  never  offended  in  the  same 
manner  again. 

He  was  now  satisfied  that  he  had  little  to  hope 
from  the  patronage  of  those  powerful  kinsmen  whom 
he  had  solicited  during  twelve  years  with  such  meek 
pertinacity ;  and  he  began  to  look  towards  a  different 
quarter.  Among  the  courtiers  of  Elizabeth  had  lately 
appeared  a  new  favourite,  young,  noble,  wealthy,  ac- 
complished, eloquent,  brave,  generous,  aspiring ;  a 
favourite  who  had  obtained  from  the  grey-headed 
Queen  such  marks  of  regard  as  she  had  scarce  vouch- 
safed to  Leicester  in  the  season  of  the  passions ;  who 
was  at  once  the  ornament  of  the  palace  and  the  idol 
ef  the  city ;  who  was  the  common  patron  of  men  of 
etters  and  of  men  of  the  sword ;  who  was  the  common 

VOL.  IIL  16 


862  LORD  BACON. 

refuge  of  the  persecuted  Catholic  and  of  the  persecuted 
Puritan.  The  calm  prudence  which  had  enabled 
Burleigh  to  shape  his  course  through  so  many  dangers, 
and  the  vast  experience  which  he  had  acquired  hi 
dealing  with  two  generations  of  colleagues  and  rivals, 
seemed  scarcely  sufficient  to  support  him  in  this  new 
competition ;  and  Robert  Cecil  sickened  with  fear  and 
envy  as  he  contemplated  the  rising  fame  and  influence 
of  Essex. 

-  The  history  of  the  factions  which,  towards  the  close 
of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  divided  her  court  and  her 
council,  though  pregnant  with  instruction,  is  by  no 
means  interesting  or  pleasing.  Both  parties  employed 
the  means  which  are  familiar  to  unscrupulous  states- 
men ;  and  neither  had,  or  even  pretended  to  have,  any 
important  end  in  view.  The  public  mind  was  then  re- 
posing from  one  great  effort,  and  collecting  strength  for 
another.  That  impetuous  and  appalling  rush  with 
which  the  human  intellect  had  moved  forward  in  the 
career  of  truth  and  liberty,  during  the  fifty  years  which 
followed  the  separation  of  Luther  from  the  communion 
of  the  Church  of  Rome,  was  now  over.  The  boundary 
between  Protestantism  and  Popery  had  been  fixed  veiy 
nearly  where  it  still  remains.  England,  Scotland,  the 
Northern  kingdoms  were  on  one  side ;  Ireland,  Spain, 
Portugal,  Italy,  on  the  other.  The  line  of  demarcation 
ran,  as  it  still  runs,  through  the  mi  1st  of  the  Nether- 
lands, of  Germany,  and  of  Switzerland,  dividing  prov- 
ince from  province,  electorate  from  electorate,  and 
canton  from  canton.  France  might  be  considered  as  a 
debatable  land,  in  which  the  contest  was  still  undecided. 
Since  that  time,  the  two  religions  have  done  little  more 
than  maintain  their  ground.  A  few  occasional  incur- 
sions have  been  made.  But  the  general  frontier  re? 


LORD  BACOX.  363 

mains  the  same.  During  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
no  great  society  has  risen  up  like  one  man,  and  eman- 
cipated itself  by  one  mighty  effort  from  the  superstition 
of  ages.  This  spectacle  was  common  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  Why  has  it  ceased  to  be  so  ?  Why  has  so 
violent  a  movement  been  followed  by  so  long  a  repose  ? 
The  doctrines  of  the  Reformers  are  not  less  agreeable 
to  reason  or  to  revelation  now  than  formerly.  The 
public  mind  is  assuredly  not  less  enlightened  now  than 
formerly.  Why  is  it  that  Protestantism,  after  carrying 
every  tiling  before  it  in  a  time  of  comparatively  little 
knowledge  and  little  freedom,  should  make  no  percepti- 
ble progress  in  a  reasoning  and  tolerant  age  ;  that  the 
Lathers,  the  Calvins,  the  Knoxes,  the  Zwingles,  should 
have  left  no  successors  ;  that  during  two  centuries  and 
a  half  fewer  converts  should  have  been  brought  over 
from  the  Church  of  Rome  than  at  the  time  of  the  Ref- 
ormation were  sometimes  gained  in  a  year  ?  This  has 
always  appeared  to  us  one  of  the  most  curious  and  in- 
teresting problems  in  history.  On  some  future  occasion 
we  may  perhaps  attempt  to  solve  it.  At  present  it  is 
enough  to  say  that,  at  the  close  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  the 
Protestant  party,  to  borrow  the  language  of  the  Apoca- 
lypse, had  left  its  first  love  and  had  ceased  to  do  its  first 
works. 

The  great  straggle  of  the  sixteenth  century  \vas 
over.  The  great  struggle  of  the  seventeenth  century 
had  not  commenced.  The  confessors  of  Mary's  reign 
were  dead.  The  members  of  the  Lono;  Parliament  were 

O 

Still  in  their  cradles.  The  Papists  had  been  deprived 
of  all  power  in  the  state.  The  Puritans  had  not  yet 
tttained  any  formidable  extent  of  power.  True  it  is 
vjiat  a  student,  well  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the 
next  generation,  can  easily  divcern  in  thp  proceedingi 


364  LORD  BACON. 

of  the  last  Parliaments  of  Elizabeth  the  germ  of  great 
and  ever  memorable  events.  But  to  the  eye  of  a  con- 
temporary nothing  of  this  appeared.  The  two  sections 
of  ambitious  men  who  were  struggling  for  power  differed 
from  each  other  on  no  important  public  question.  Both 
belonged  to  the  Established  Church.  Both  professed 
boundless  loyalty  to  the  Queen.  Both  approved  the 
war  with  Spain.  There  is  not,  so  far  as  we  arc  aware, 
any  reason  to  believe  that  they  entertained  different 
views  concerning  the  succession  of  the  Crown.  Cer- 
tainly neither  faction  had  any  great  measure  of  reform 
in  view.  Neither  attempted  to  redress  any  public 
grievance.  The  most  odious  and  pernicious  grievance 
under  which  the  nation  then  suffered  was  a  source  of 
profit  to  both,  and  was  defended  by  both  with  equal 
zeal.  Raleigh  held  a  monopoly  of  cards,  Essex  a 
monopoly  of  sweet  wines.  In  fact,  the  only  ground  of 
quarrel  between  the  parties  was  that  they  could  not 
agree  as  to  their  respective  shares  of  power  and  patron- 
age. 

Nothing  in  the  political  conduct  of  Essex  entitles  him 
to  esteem ;  and  the  pity  with  which  we  regard  his 
early  and  terrible  end  is  diminished  by  the  considera- 
tion, that  he  put  to  hazard  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  his 
most  attached  friends,  and  endeavoured  to  throw  the 
whole  country  into  confusion,  for  objects  purely  per- 
sonal. Still,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  deeply  interested 
for  a  man  so  brave,  high-spirited,  and  generous  ;  for  a 
man  who,  while  he  conducted  himself  towards  his 
sovereign  with  a  boldness  such  as  was  then  found  in  no 
other  subject,  conducted  himself  towards  his  dependents 
with  a  delicacy  such  as  has  rarely  been  found  in  any 
other  patron.  Unlike  the  vulgar  herd  of  benefactors, 
Ue  desired  to  inspire,  not  gratitude,  but  affection.  Ho 


LORD  BACON.  365 

tried  to  make  those  whom  he  befriended  feel  towards 
him  as  towards  an  equal.  His  mind,  ardent,  suscepti- 
ble, naturally  disposed  to  admiration  of  all  that  is  great 
and  beautiful,  was  fascinated  by  the  genius  and  accom- 
plishments of  Bacon.  A  close  friendship  was  soon 
formed  between  them,  a  friendship  destined  to  have  a 
dark,  a  mournful,  a  shameful  end. 

In  1594  the  office  of  Attorney-General  became  va- 
cant, and  Bacon  hoped  to  obtain  it.  Essex  made  his 
friend's  cause  his  own,  sued,  expostulated,  promised, 
threatened,  but  all  in  vain.  It  is  probable  that  the  dis- 
like felt  by  the  Cecils  for  Bacon  had  been  increased  by 
the  connection  which  he  had  lately  formed  with  the 
Earl.  Robert  was  then  on  the  point  of  being  made 
Secretary  of  State.  *  He  happened  one  day  to  be  in  the 
same  coach  with  Essex,  and  a  remarkable  conversation 
took  place  between  them.  "  My  Lord,"  said  Sir  Rob- 
ert, "  the  Queen  has  determined  to  appoint  an  Attor- 
ney-General without  more  delay.  I  pray  your  Lord- 
ship to  let  me  know  whom  you  will  favour."  "  I  won- 
der at  your  question,"  replied  the  Earl.  "  You  cannot 
but  know  that  resolutely,  against  all  the  world,  I  stand 
for  your  cousin,  Francis  Bacon."  "  Good  Lord ! " 
cried  Cecil,  unable  to  bridle  his  temper,  "  I  wonder  your 
Lordship  should  spend  your  strength  on  so  unlikely  a 
matter.  Can  you  name  one  precedent  of  so  raw  a 
youth  promoted  to  so  great  a  place  ?  "  This  objection 
came  with  a  singularly  bad  grace  from  a  man  who, 
though  younger  than  Bacon,  was  in  daily  expectation 
of  being  made  Secretary  of  State.  The  blot  was  too 
obvious  to  be  missed  by  Essex,  who  seldom  forbore  to 
speak  his  mind.  "  I  have  made  no  search,"  said  he. 
w  for  precedents  of  young  men  who  have  filled  the 
dffice  of  Attorney-General.  But  I  could  name  to  you, 


366  LORD  BACON. 

Sir  IloLert,  a  man  younger  than  Francis,  less  learned, 
and  equally  inexperienced,  who  is  suing  and  striving 
with  all  his  might  for  an  office  of  far  greater  weight.'1 
Sir  Robert  had  nothing  to  say  but  that  he  thought  his 
own  abilities  equal  to  the  place  which  he  hoped  to  ol>- 
tain,  and  that  his  father's  long  services  deserved  such  a 
mark  of  gratitude  from  the  Queen  ;  as  if  his  abilities 
were  comparable  to  liis  cousin's,  or  as  if  Sir  Nicholas 
Bacon  had  done  no  service  to  the  State.  Cecil  then 
hinted  that,  if  Bacon  would  be  satisfied  with  the  Solici- 
torship,  that  might  be  of  easier  digestion  to  the  Queen. 
"  Digest  me  no  digestions,"  said  the  generous  and  ar- 
dent Earl.  "  The  Attorneyship  for  Francis  is  that  I 
must  have  ;  and  in  that  I  will  spend  all  my  power, 
might,  authority,  and  amity  ;  and  with  tooth  and  nail 
procure  the  same  for  him  against  whomsoever  ;  and 
whosoever  getteth  this  office  out  of  my  hands  for  any 
other,  before  he  have  it,  it  shall  cost  him  the  coining 
by.  And  this  be  you  assured  of,  Sir  Robert,  for  now  I 
fully  declare  myself;  and  for  my  own  part,  Sir  Robert, 
I  think  strange  both  of  my  Lord  Treasurer  and  you, 
that  can  have  the  mind  to  seek  the  preference  of  a 
stranger  before  so  near  a  kinsman  ;  for  if  you  weigh 
in  a  balance  the  parts  every  way  of  his  competitor 
and  him,  only  excepting  five  poor  years  of  admitting 
to  a  house  of  court  before  Francis,  you  shall  find  in 
all  other  respects  whatsoever  no  comparison  between 
them.". 

When  the  office  of  Attorney-General  was  filled  up, 
the  Earl  pressed  the  Queen  to  make  Bacon  Solicitor- 
General,  and,  on  this  occasion,  the  old  Lord  Treasurer 
professed  himself  not  unfavourable  to  his  nephew's  pre- 
tensions. But,  after  a  contest  which  lasted  more  tliau 
I  year  and  a  half,  and  in  which  Essex,  to  use  his  owr 


LORD  BACON.  367 

words,  "  spent  all  his  power,  might,  authority,  and 
amity,"  the  place  was  given  to  another.  Essex  felt  this 
disappointment  keenly,  but  found  consolation  in  the 
most  munificent  and  delicate  liberality.  He  presented 
Bacon  with  an  estate  worth  near  two  thousand  pounds, 
situated  at  Twickenham ;  and  this,  as  Bacon  owned 
many  years  after,  "  with  so  Mud  and  noble  circum- 
stances as  the  manner  was  worth  more  than  the 
matter." 

It  was  soon  after  these  events  that  Bacon  first  ap- 
peared before  the  public  as  a  writer.  Early  in  1597  he 
published  a  small  volume  of  Essays,  which  was  after- 
wards enlarged  by  successive  additions  to  many  times 
its  original  bulk.  This  little  work  was,  as  it  we'll 

O  ' 

deserved  to  be,  exceedingly  popular.  It  was  reprinted 
in  a  few  months  ;  it  was  translated  into  Latin,  French, 
and  Italian ;  and  it  seems  to  have  at  once  established 
the  literary  reputation  of  its  author.  But,  though 
Bacon's  reputation  rose,  his  fortunes  were  still  depressed. 
He  was  in  great  pecuniary  difficulties ;  and  on  one 
occasion,  was  arrested  in  the  street  at  the  suit  of  a 
goldsmith  for  a  debt  of  three  hundred  pounds,  and  wras 
carried  to  a  spunging-house  in  Coleman  Street. 

The  kindness  of  Essex  was  in  the  mean  time  inde- 
fatigable. In  1596  he  sailed  on  his  memorable  expe- 
dition to  the  coast  of  Spain.  At  the  very  moment  of 
his  embarkation,  he  wrote  to  several  of  his  friends,  com- 
mending to  them,  during  his  own  absence,  the  interests 
of  Bacon.  He  returned,  after  performing  the  most 
brilliant  military  exploit  that  was  achieved  on  the  Con- 
tinent by  English  arms  d urine  the  lonf  interval  which 

«/  O  O  O 

elapsed  between  the  battle  of  Agincourt  and  that  of 
Blenheim.  His  valour,  his  talents,  his  humane  arid 
generous  disposition,  had  made  liim  the  idol  of  his 


368  LORD  BACON. 

countrymen,  and  had  extorted  praise  from  the  enemies 
whom  he  had  conquered.1  He  had  always  been  proud 
and  headstrong  ;  and  his  splendid  success  seems  to  have 
rendered  his  faults  more  offensive  than  ever.  But  to 
his  friend  Francis  he  was  still  the  same.  Bacon  had 
some  thoughts  of  making  his  fortune  by  marriage,  and 
had  begun  to  pay  court  to  a  widow  of  the  name  of 
Hatton.  The  eccentric  manners  and  violent  temper  of 
tliis  woman  made  her  a  disgrace  and  a  torment  to  her 
connections.  But  Bacon  was  not  aware  of  her  faults, 
or  was  disposed  to  overlook  them  for  the  sake  of  her 
ample  fortune.  Essex  pleaded  his  friend's  cause  with 
his  usual  ardour.  The  letters  which  the  Earl  addressed 
to  Lady  Hatton  and  to  her  mother  are  still  extant,  and 
are  highly  honourable  to  him.  "  If,"  he  wrote,  "  she 
were  my  sister  or  my  daughter,  I  protest  I  would  as 
confidently  resolve  to  further  it  as  I  now  persuade  you;  " 
and  again,  "  if  my  faith  be  any  thing,  I  protest,  if  I  had 
one  as  near  me  as  she  is  to  you,  I  had  rather  match  her 
with  him,  than  with  men  of  far  greater  /Itles."  The 
suit,  happily  for  Bacon,  was  unsuccessful.  The  lady 
indeed  was  kind  to  him  in  more  ways  than  one.  She 
rejected  him  ;  and  she  accepted  his  enemy.  She  mar- 
ried that  narrow-minded,  bad-hearted  pedant,  Sir  Ed- 
ward Coke,  and  did  her  best  to  make  him  as  miserable 
as  he  deserved  to  be. 

The  fortunes  of  Essex  had  now  reached  their  height, 
and  began  to  decline.  He  possessed  indeed  all  the 
qualities  which  raise  men  to  greatness  rapidly.  But  he 
had  neither  the  virtues  or  the  vices  which  enable  men 
to  retain  greatness  long.  His  frankness,  his  keen  sen- 
ribilitj  to  insult  and  injustice  were  by  no  means 

1  See  Cervantes's  Novela  de  la  Espanola  Ingleta. 


LORD  BACOX.  369 

agreeable  to  a  sovereign  naturally  impatient  of  opposi- 
tion, and  accustomed,  during  forty  years,  to  the  most 
extravagant  flattery  and  the  most  abject  submission. 
The  daring  and  contemptuous  manner  in  which  he  bade 
defiance  to  his  enemies  excited  their  deadly  hatred.  His 
administration  in  Ireland  was  unfortunate,  and  in  many 
respects  highly  blamable.  Though  his  brilliant 'courage 
and  his  impetuous  activity  fitted  him  admirably  for  such 
enterprises  as  that  of  Cadiz,  he  did  not  possess  the  cau- 
tion, patience,  and  resolution  necessary  for  the  conduct 
of  a  protracted  war,  in  which  difficulties  were  to  be 
gradually  surmounted1,  in  which  much  discomfort  was  to 
be  endured,  and  in  which  few  splendid  exploits  could  be 
achieved.  For  the  civil  duties  of  his  high  place  he  was 
still  less  qualified.  Though  eloquent  and  accomplished, 
he  was  in  no  sense  a  statesman.  The  multitude  indeed 
still  continued  to  regard  even  his  faults  with  fondness. 
But  the  Court  had  ceased  to  give  him  credit,  even  for 
the  merit  which  he  really  possessed.  The  person  on 
whom,  during  the  decline  of  his  influence,  he  chiefly 
depended,  to  whom  he  confided  his  perplexities,  whose 
advice  he  solicited,  whose  intercession  he  employed,  was 
his  friend  Bacon.  The  lamentable  truth  must  be  told. 
This  friend,  so  loved,  so  trusted,  bore  a  principal  part  in 
ruining .  the  Earl's  fortunes^  in  shedding  his  blood,  and 
in  blackening  his  memory. 

But  let  us  be  just  to  Bacon.  We  believe  that,  tc 
the  last,  he  had  no  wish  to  injure  Essex.  Nay,  we 
believe  that  he  sincerely  exerted  himself  to  serve 
Essex,  as  long  as  he  thought  he  could  serve  Essex 
without  injuring  himself.  The  advice  which  he  gave 
to  his  noble  benefactor  was  generally  most  judicious. 
He  did  all  in  his  power  to  dissuade  the  Earl  from  ac« 
tepting  the  Government  of  Ireland.  "  For,"  says  he 


370  LORD  BACON. 

"  I  did  as  plainly  see  his  overthrow  chained  as  it  were 
by  destiny  to  that  journey,  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to 
ground  a  judgment  upon  future  contingents."  The  pre- 
diction was  accomplished.  Essex  returned  in  disgrace. 
Bacon  attempted  to  mediate  between  his  friend  and  the 
Queen  ;  and,  we  believe,  honestly  employed  all  his  ad- 
dress for  that  purpose.  But  the  task  which  he  had  un- 
dertaken was  too  difficult,  delicate,  and  perilous,  even 
for  so  wary  and  dexterous  an  agent.  He  had  to  man- 
age two  spirits  equally  proud,  resentful,  and  ungovern- 
able. At  Essex  House,  he  had  to  calm  the  rage  of  a 
young  hero  incensed  by  multiplied  wrongs  and  humilia- 
tions, and  then  to  pass  to  Whitehall  for  the  purpose  of 
soothing  the  peevishness  of  a  sovereign,  whose  temper, 
never  very  gentle,  had  been  rendered  morbidly  irri- 
table by  age,  by  declining  health,  and  by  the  long 
habit  of  listening  to  flattery  and  exacting  implicit 
obedience.  It  is  hard  to  serve  two  masters.  Situated 
as  Bacon  was,  it  was  scarcely  possible  for  him  to  shape 
his  course  so  as  not  to  give  one  or  both  of  his  em- 
ployers reason  to  complain.  For  a  time  he  acted  as 
fairly  as,  in  circumstances  so  embarrassing,  could 
reasonably  be  expected.  At  length  he  found  that, 
while  he  was  trying  to  prop  the  fortunes  of  another, 
he  was  in  danger  of  shaking  his  own.  He  had  dis- 
obliged both  the  parties  whom  he  wished  to  reconcile. 
Essex  thought  him  wanting  in  zeal  as  a  friend :  Eliza- 
beth thought  him  wanting  in  duty  as  a  subject.  The 
Earl  looked  on  him  as  a  spy  of  the  Queen  ;  the  Queen 
as  a  creature  of  the  Earl.  The  reconciliation  which 
ne  had  laboured  to  effect  appeared  utterly  hopeless. 
A  thousand  signs,  legible  to  eyes  far  less  keen  than 
his,  announced  that  the  fall  of  his  patron  was  at  hand. 
He  shaped  his  course  accordingly.  When  Essex  wa? 


LORD   BACON.  371 

brought  before  the  council  to  answer  for  his  conduct  in 
Ireland,  Bacon,  after  a  faint  attempt  to  excuse  himself 
from  taking  part  against  his  friend,  submitted  himself 
to  the  Queen's  pleasure,  and  appeared  at  the  bar  in 
support  of  the  charges.  But  a  darker  scene  was  be- 
hind. The  unhappy  young  nobleman,  made  reckless 
by  despair,  ventured  on  a  rash  and  criminal  enterprise, 
which  rendered  him  liable  to  the  highest  penalties  of 
the  law.  What  course  was  Bacon  to  *take  ?  This 
was  one  of  those  conjunctures  which  show  what  men 
are.  To  a  high-minded  man,  wealth,  power,  court- 
favor,  even  personal  safety,  would  have  appeared  of  no 
account,  when  opposed  to  friendship,  gratitude,  and 
honour.  Such  a  man  would  have  stood  by  the  side  of 
Essex  at  the  trial,  would  have  "  spent  all  his  power, 
might,  authority,  and  amity  "  in  soliciting  a  mitigation 
of  the  sentence,  would  have  been  a  daily  visitor  at  the 
cell,  would  have  received  the  last  injunctions  and  the 
last  embrace  on  the  scaffold,  would  have  employed  all 
the  powers  of  his  intellect  to  guard  from  insult  the 
fame  of  his  generous  though  erring  friend.  An  ordi- 
nary man  Avould  neither  have  incurred  the  danger  of 
succouring  Essex,  nor  the  disgrace  of  assailing  him. 
Bacon  did  not  even  preserve  neutrality.  He  appeared 
as  counsel  for  the  prosecution.  In  that  situation  he  did 
l  ot  confine  himself  to  what  would  have  been  amply 
sufficient  to  procure  a  verdict.  He  employed  all  his 
wit,  his  rhetoric,  and  his  learning,  not  to  insure  a  con- 
viction, —  for  the  circumstances  were  such  that  a  con- 
viction was  inevitable,  —  but  to  deprive  the  unhappy 
prisoner  of  all  those  excuses  which,  though  legally  of 
no  value,  yet  tended  to  diminish  the  moral  guilt  of  the 
crime,  and  which,  therefore,  though  they  could  not 
justify  the  peers  in  pronouncing  an  acquittal,  nvghl 


372  LORD  BACON. 

incline  the  Queen  to  grant  a  pardon.  The  Earl  urged 
as  a  paliation  of  his  frantic  acts  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  powerful  and  inveterate  enemies,  that  they  had  ruined 
his  fortunes,  that  they  sought  his  life,  and  that  their 
persecutions  had  driven  him  to  despair.  This  was  true 
and  Bacon  well  knew  it  to  be  true.  But  he  affected 
to  treat  it  as  an  idle  pretence.  He  compared  Essex  tc 
Pisistratus  who,  by  pretending  to  be  in  imminent 
danger  of  assassination,  and  by  exhibiting  self-inflicted 
wounds,  succeeded  in  establishing  tyranny  at  Athens. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  prisoner  to  bear.  He  inter- 
rupted his  ungrateful  friend  by  calling  on  him  to  quit 
the  part  of  an  advocate,  to  come  forward  as  a  witness, 
and  to  tell  the  Lords  whether,  in  old  times,  he  Francis 
Bacon,  had  not  under  his  own  hand,  repeatedly  as- 
serted the  truth  of  what  he  now  represented  as  idle 
pretexts.  It  is  painful  to  go  on  with  this  lamentable 
story.  Bacon  returned  a  shuffling  answer  to  the  Earl's 
question,  and,  as  if  the  allusion  to  Pisistratus  were  not 
sufficiently  offensive,  made  another  allusion  still  more 
unjustifiable.  He  compared  Essex  to  Henry  Duke  of 
Guise,  and  the  rash  attempt  in  the  city  to  the  day  of 
the  barricades  at  Paris.  Why  Bacon  had  recourse  to 
such  a  topic  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  was  quite  unneces- 
sary for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  verdict.  It  was 
certain  to  produce  a  strong  impression  on  the  mind  of 
the  haughty  and  jealous  princess  on  whose  pleasure 
the  Earl's  fate  depended.  The  faintest  allusion  to  the 
degrading  tutelage  in  which  the  last  Valois  had  been 
held  by  the  House  of  Lorraine  was  sufficient  to 
harden  her  heart  against  a  man  who  in  rank,  in  military 
reputation,  in  popularity  among  the  citizens  of  the 
japital,  bore  some  resemblance  to  the  Captain  of  the 
League. 


LOED  BACON.  373 

Essex  was  convicted.  Bacon  made  no  effort  to  save 
him,  though  the  Queen's  feelings  were  such  that  he 
might  have  pleaded  his  benefactor's  cause,  possibly  with 
mccess,  certainly  without  any  serious  danger  to  himself. 
The  unhappy  nobleman  was  executed.  His  fate  ex- 
cited strong,  perhaps  unreasonable  feelings  of  compas- 
sion and  indignation.  The  Queen  was  received  by  the 
citizens  of  London  with  gloomy  looks  and  faint  accla- 
mations. She  thought  it  expedient  to  publish  a  vindi- 
cation of  her  late  proceedings.  The  faithless  friend 
who  had  assisted  in  taking  the  Earl's  life  was  now  em- 

O 

ployed  to  murder  the  Earl's  fame.  The  Queen  had 
seen  some  of  Bacon's  writings,  and  had  been  pleased 
with  them.  He  was  accordingly  selected  to  write  "  A 
Declaration  of  the  Practices  and  Treasons  attempted 
and  committed  by  Robert  Earl  of  Essex,"  which  was 
printed  by  authority.  In  the  succeeding  reign,  Bacon 
had  not  a  word  to  say  in  defence  of  this  performance, 
a  performance  abounding  in  expressions  which  .no  gen- 
erous enemy  would  have  employed  respecting  a  man 
who  had  so  dearly  expiated  his  offences.  His  only  ex- 
cuse was,  that  he  wrote  it  by  command,  that  he  con- 
sidered himself  as  a  mere  secretary,  that  he  had  partic- 
ular instructions  as  to  the  way  in  Avhich  he  was  to  treat 
every  part  of  the  subject,  and  that,  in  fact,  he  had  fur- 
nished only  the  arrangement  and  the  style. 

We  regret  to  say  that  the  whole  conduct  of  Bacon 
through  the  course  of  these  transactions  appears  to  Mr. 
Montagu  not  merely  excusable,  but  deserving  of  high 
admiration.  The  integrity  and  benevolence  of  this 
gentleman  are  so  well  known  that  our  readers  will 
probably  be  at  a  loss  to  conceive  by  what  steps  he  call 
uave  arrived  at  so  extraordinary  a  conclusion  :  and  we 
ire  half  afraid  that  they  will  suspect  us  of  practising 


874  LORD  BACON. 

Borne  artifice  upon  them  wlien  we  report  the  principal 
arguments  which  he  employs. 

In  order  to  get  rid  of  the  charge  of  ingratitude,  Mr. 
Montagu  attempts  to  show  that  Bacon  lay  under 
greater  obligations  to  the  Queen  than  to  Essex.  What 
these  obligations  were  it  is  not  easy  to  discover.  The 
situation  of  Queen's  Counsel,  and  a  remote  reversion, 
were  surely  favours  very  far  below  Bacon's  personal 
and  hereditary  claims.  They  were  favours  which  had 
not  cost  the  Queen  a  groat,  nor  had  they  put  a  groat 
into  Bacon's  purse.  It  was  necessary  to  rest  Eliza- 
beth's claims  to  gratitude  on  some  other  ground  ;  and 
this  Mr.  Montagu  felt.  "  What  perhaps  was  her 
greatest  kindness,"  says  he,  "  instead  of  having  hastily 
advanced  Bacon,  she  had,  with  a  continuance  of  her 
friendship,  made  him  bear  the  yoke  in  his  youth. 
Such  were  his  obligations  to  Elizabeth."  Such  indeed 
they  were.  Being  the  son  of  one  of  her  oldest  and 
most  faithful  ministers,  being  himself  the  ablest  and 
most  accomplished  young  man  of  his  time,  he  had  been 
condemned  by  her  to  drudgery,  to  obscurity,  to  pov- 
erty. She  had  depreciated  his  acquirements.  She 
had  checked  him  in  the  most  imperious  manner,  when 
in  Parliament  he  ventured  to  act  an  independent  part. 
She  had  refused  to  him  the  professional  advancement 
to  which  he  had  a  just  claim.  To  her  it  was  owing 
that,  while  younger  men,  not  superior  to -him  in  ex- 
traction, and  far  inferior  to  him  in  every  kind  of  per- 
sonal merit,  were  filling  the  highest  offices  of  the  state, 
adding  manor  to  manor,  rearing  palace  after  palace, 
he  was  lying  at  a  spunging-house  for  a  debt  of  three 
hundred  pounds.  Assuredly  if  Bacon  owed  gratitude 
to  Elizabeth,  he  owed  none  to  Essex.  If  the  Queen 
leally  was  his  best  friend,  the  Earl  was  his  wcrst  ene 


LORD  BACOX.  375 

tny.  We  wonder  that  Mr.  Montagu  did  not  press  thii 
argument  a  little  further.  He  might  have  maintained 
that  Bacon  was  excusable  in  revenging  himself  on  a 
man  who  had  attempted  to  rescue  his  youth  from  the 
salutary  yoke  imposed  on  it  by  the  Queen,  who  had 
wished  to  advance  him  hastily,  who,  not  content  with 
attempting  to  inflict  the  Attorney-Generalship  upon 
him,  had  been  so  cruel  as  to  present  him  with  a  landed 
estate. 

Again,  we  can  hardly  think  Mr.  Montagu  serious 
when  he  tells  us  that  Bacon  was  bound  for  the  sake  of 
the  public  not  to  destroy  liis  own  hopes  of  advancement, 
and  that  he  took  part  against  Essex  from  a  wish  to 
obtain  power  which  might  enable  him  to  be  useful  to 
his  country.  We  really  do  not  know  how  to  refute  such 
arguments  except  by  stating  them.  Nothing  is  impos- 
sible which  does  not  involve  a  contradiction.  It  is 
barely  possible  that  Bacon's  motives  for  acting  as  he  did 
on  this  occasion  may  have  been  gratitude  to  the  Queen 
for  keeping  him  poor,  and  a  desire  to  benefit  his  fellow- 
creatures  in  some  high  situation.  And  there  is  a  possi- 
bility that  Bonner  may  have  been  a  good  Protestant 
who,  being  convinced  that  the  blood  of  martyrs  is  the 
seed  of  the  Church,  heroically  went  through  all  the 
drudgery  and  infamy  of  persecution,  in  order  that  he 
might  inspire  the  English  people  with  an  intense  and 
lasting  hatred  of  Popery.  There  is  a  possibility  that 
Jeffreys  may  have  been  an  ardent  lover  of  liberty,  and 
that  he  may  have  beheaded  Algernon  Sydney,  and 
burned  Elizabeth  Gaunt,  only  in  order  to  produce  a 
reaction  which  might  lead  to  the  limitation  of  the  pre- 
rogative. There  is  a  possibility  that  Thurtell  may 
iiave  killed  Weare  only  in  order  to  give  the  youth  of 
England  an  impressive  warning  against  gaming  and 


876  LORD  BACON. 

oad  company.  There  is  a  possibility  that  Fauntleroy 
may  have  forged  powers  of  attorney,  only  in  order  that 
his  fate  might  turn  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the 
defects  of  the  penal  lav/.  These  things,  \ve  say,  are 
possible.  But  they  are  so  extravagantly  improbable 
that  a  man  who  should  act  on  such  suppositions  would 
be  fit  only  for  Saint  Luke's.  And  we  do  not  see  why 
suppositions  on  which  no  rational  man  would  act  ill 
ordinary  life  should  be  admitted  into  history. 

Mr.  Montagu's  notion  that  Bacon  desired  power  only 
in  order  to  do  good  to  mankind  appears  somewhat 
strange  to  us,  when  we  consider  how  Bacon  afterwards 
used  power,  and  how  he  lost  it.  Surely  the  service 
which  he  rendered  to  mankind  by  taking  Lady  Whar- 
ton's  broad  pieces  and  Sir  John  Kennedy's  cabinet  was 
not  of  such  vast  importance  as  to  sanctify  all  the  means 
which  might  conduce  to  that  end.  If  the  case  were 
fairly  stated,  it  would,  we  much  fear,  stand  thus: 
Bacon  was  a  servile  advocate,  that  he  might  be  a  cor- 
rupt judge. 

Mr.  Montagu  maintains  that  none  but  the  ignorant 
and  unreflecting  can  think  Bacon  censurable  for  any 
thing  that  he  did  as  counsel  for  the  Crown,  and  that  no 
advocate  can  justifiably  use  any  discretion  as  to  the 
party  for  whom  he  appears.  We  will  not  at  present 
inquire  whether  the  doctrine  which  is  held  on  this 
subject  by  English  lawyers  be  or  be  not  agreeable  to 
reason  and  morality;  whether  it  be  right  that  a  man 
shoxild,  with  a  wig  on  his  head,  and  a  band  round  his 
neck,  do  for  a  guinea  what,  without  those  appendages, 
he  would  think  it  wicked  and  infamous  to  do  for  an 
empire  ;  whether  it  be  right  that,  not  merely  believing 
but  knowing  a  statement  to  be  true,  he  should  do  al1 
,that  can  be  done  by  sophistry,  by  rhetoric,  by  sol 


LORD  BACON.  877 

enm  asseveration,  by  indignant  exclamation,  by  ges- 
ture, by  play  of  features,  by  terrifying  one  honest 
witness,  by  perplexing  another,  to  cause  a  jury  to 
think  that  statement  false.  It  is  not  necessary  on 
the  present  occasion  to  decide  these  questions.  The 
professional  rules,  be  they  good  or  bad,  are  rules  to 
which  many  wise  and  virtuous  men  have  conformed, 
and  are  daily  conforming.  If,  therefore,  Bacon 
did  no  more  than  these  rules  required  of  him,  we 
shall  readily  admit  that  he  was  blameless,  or,  at 
least,  excusable.  But  we  conceive  that  his  con- 
duct was  not  justifiable  according  to  any  profes- 
sional rules  that  now  exist,  or  that  ever  existed  in 
England.  It  has  always  been  held  that,  in  criminal 
cases  in  which  the  prisoner  was  denied  the  help  of 
counsel,  and,  above  all,  in  capital  cases,  advocates 
were  both  entitled  and  bound  to  exercise  a  discretion. 
It  is  true  that,  after  the  Revolution,  when  the  Parlia- 
ment began  to  make  inquisition  for  the  innocent  blood 
which  had  been  shed  by  the  last  Stuarts,  a  feeble  at- 
tempt was  made  to  defend  the  lawyers  who  had  been 
accomplices  in  the  murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Airnstrong, 
on  the  ground  that  they  had  only  acted  professionally. 
The  wretched  sophism  was  silenced  by  the  execrations 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  "  Things  will  never  be 
•well  done,"  said  Mr.  Foley,  "  till  some  of  that  profes- 
sion be  made  examples."  "  We  have  a  new  sort  of 
monsters  in  the  world,"  said  the  younger  Harnpden, 
"  haranguing  a  man  to  death.  These  I  call  blood- 
hounds. Sawyer  is  very  criminal  and  guilty  of  this 
murder."  "  I  speak  to  discharge  my  conscience,"  said 
Mr.  Garroway.  "  I  will  not  have  the  blood  of  this 
man  at  my  door.  Sawyer  demanded  judgment  against 
lr!m  and  execution.  I  believe  him  guilty  of  the  death 


878  LORD  BACON". 

of  T;his  man.  Do  what  you  will  with  him."  "  If  the 
profession  of  the  liw,"  said  the  eider  Hainpden,  "  gives 
a  man  authority  to  murder  at  this  rate,  it  is  the  inter- 
est of  all  men  to  rise  and  exterminate  that  profession." 
Nor  was  this  language  held  only  by  unlearned  country 
gentlemen.  Sir  William  Williams,  one  of  the  ablest 
and  most  unscrupulous  lawyers  of  the  age,  took  the 
same  view  of  the  case.  He  had  not  hesitated,  he  said, 
to  take  part  in  the  prosecution  of  the  Bishops,  because 
they  were  allowed  counsel.  But  he  maintained  that, 
where  the  prisoner  wras  not  allowed  counsel,  the  Coun- 
sel for  the  Crown  was  bound  to  exercise  a  discretion, 
and  that  eveiy  lawyer  who  neglected  this  distinction 
was  a  betrayer  of  the  law.  But  it  is  unnecessary  to 
cite  authority.  It  is  known  to  every  body  who  has 
ever  looked  into  a  court  of  quarter-sessions  that  law- 
yers do  exercise  a  discretion  in  criminal  cases  ;  and  it 
is  plain  to  every  man  of  common  sense  that,  if  they 
did  not  exercise  such  a  discretion,  they  would  be  a 
more  hateful  body  of  men  than  those  bravoes  who 
used  to  hire  out  their  stilettoes  in  Italy. 

Bacon  appeared  against  a  man  who  was  indeed 
guilty  of  a  great  offence,  but  who  had  been  his  bene- 
factor and  friend.  He  did  more  than  this.  Nay,  lie 
did  more  than  a  person  who  had  never  seen  Essex 
would  have  been  justified  in  doing.  He  employed  all 
the  art  of  an  advocate  in  order  to  make  the  prisoner's 
conduct  appear  more  inexcusable  and  more  dangerous 
to  the  state  than  it  really  had  been.  All  that  profes- 
sional duty  could,  in  any  case,  have  required  of  him 
would  lia-.'e  been  to  conduct  the  cause  so  as  to  insure 
a  conviction.  But  from  the  nature  of  the  circum- 
stances there  could  not  be  the  smallest  doubt  that  the 
Earl  would  be  found  guilty.  The  character  of  th« 


LORD  BACON.  379 

trime  was  unequivocal.  It  had  been  committed  re 
cently,  in  broad  daylight,  in  the  streets  of  the  capital, 
in  the  presence  of  thousands*  If  ever  there  was  an 
occasion  on  which  an  advocate  had  no  temptation  to 
resort  to  extraneous  topics,  for  the  purpose  of  blinding 
the  judgment  and  inflaming  the  passions  of  a  tribunal, 
this  was  that  occasion.  Why  then  resort  to  arguments 
which,  while  they  could  add  nothing  to  the  strength  of 
the  case,  considered  in  a  legal  point  of  view,  tended  to 
aggravate  the  moral  guilt  of  the  fatal  enterprise,  and 
to  excite  fear  and  resentment  in  that  quarter  from 
which  alone  the  Earl  could  now  expect  mercy  ?  Why 
remind  the  audience  of  the  arts  of  the  ancient  tyrants? 
Why  deny,  what  every  body  knew  to  be  the  truth, 
that  a  powerful  faction  at  court  had  long  sought  to 
effect  the  ruin  of  the  prisoner  ?  Why,  above  all,  in- 
stitute a  parallel  between  the  unhappy  culprit  and  the 
most  wicked  and  most  successful  rebel  of  the  age  ? 
Was  it  absolutely  impossible  to  do  all  that  professional 
duty  required  without  reminding  a  jealous  sovereign 
of  the  League,  of  the  barricades,  and  of  all  the  humil- 
iations which  a  too  powerful  subject  had  heaped  on 
Henry  the  Third? 

But  if  we  admit  the  plea  which  Mr.  Montagu  urges 
hi  defence  of  what  Bacon  did  as  an  advocate,  wrhal 
shall  we  say  of  the  "  Declaration  of  the  Treasons  of 
Robert  Earl  of  Essex  ?  ''  Here  at  least  there  was  no 
Dretencc  of  professional  obligation.  Even  those  who 
may  think  it  the  duty  of  a  lawyer  to  hang,  draw,  and 
quarter  his  benefactors,  for  a  proper  consideration,  will 
hardly  say  that  it  is  his  duty  to  write  abusive  purnph- 
"ets  against  them,  after  they  are  in  their  graves.  Bacon 
excused  himself  by  saying  that  he  was  not  answerable 
for  the  matter  of  the  book,  and  that  he  furnished  only 


580  LOBJ  BACON. 

the  language.  But  why  did  he  endow  such  purposes 
with  words  ?  Could  no  hack  writer,  without  virtue  or 
shame,  be  found  to  exaggerate  the  errors,  already  so 
dearly  expiated,  of  a  gentle  and  noble  spirit  ?  Every 
age  produces  those  links  between  the  man  and  the 
baboon.  Every  age  is  fertile  of  Old-mixons,  of  Ken- 
ricks,  and  of  Antony  Pasquins.  But  was  it  for  Bacon 
so  to  prostitute  his  intellect  ?  Could  he  not  feel  that, 
while  he  rounded  and  pointed  some  period  dictated  by 
the  envy  of  Cecil,  or  gave  a  plausible  form  to  some 
slander  invented  by  the  dastardly  malignity  of  Cobham, 
he  was  not  sinning  merely  against  his  friend's  honour 
and  his  own  ?  Could  he  not  feel  that  letters,  eloquence, 
philosophy,  were  all  degraded  in  his  degradation  ? 

The  real  explanation  of  all  this  is  perfectly  obvious  ; 
and  nothing  but  a  partiality  amounting  to  a  ruling 
passion  could  cause  any  body  to  miss  it.  The  moral 
qualities  of  Bacon  were  not  of  a  high  order.  We  do 
not  say  that  he  was  a  bad  man.  He  was  not  inhuman 
or  tyrannical.  He  bore  with  meekness  his  high  civil 
honours,  and  the  far  higher  honours  gained  by  his  in- 
tellect. He  was  very  seldom,  if  ever,  provoked  into 
treating  any  person  with  malignity  and  insolence.  No 
man  more  readily  held  up  the  loft  cheek  to  those  who 
had  smitten  the  right.  No  man  was  more  expert  at 
the  soft  answer  which  turneth  away  wrath.  He  was 
uever  charged,  by  any  accuser  entitled  to  the  smallest 
credit,  with  licentious  habits.  His  even  temper,  his 
flowing  courtesy,  the  general  respectability  of  his  de- 
meanour, made  a  favourable  impression  on  those  who 
sa  w  him  in  situations  which  do  not  severely  try  the 
principles.  His  faults  were  —  we  write  it  with  pain 
—  coldness  of  heart,  and  meanness  of  spirit.  He  seems 
lo  have  been  incapable  of  feeling  strong  affection,  of 


LORD  BACOIS.  381 

facing  great  dangers,  of  making  great  sacrifices.  His 
desires  were  set  011  things  below.  Wealth,  precedence, 
titles,  patronage,  the  mace,  the  seals,  the  coronet,  large 
houses,  fair  gardens,  rich  manors,  massive  services  of 
plate,  gay  hangings,  curious  cabinets,  had  as  great  at- 
tractions for  him  as  for  any  of  the  courtiers  who  dropped 
on  their  knees  in  the  dirt  when  Elizabeth  passed  by, 
and  then  hastened  home  to  write  to  the  King  of  Scots 
that  her  Grace  seemed  to  be  breaking  fast.  For  these 
objects  he  had  stooped  to  every  thing  and  endured 
every  thing.  For  these  he  had  sued  hi  the  humblest 
manner,  and,  when  unjustly  and  ungraciously  repulsed, 
had  thanked  those  who  had  repulsed  him,  and  had  be- 
gun to  sue  again.  For  these  objects,  as  soon  as  he  found 
that  the  smallest  show  of  independence  in  Parliament 
was  offensive  to  the  Queen,  he  had  abased  himself  to 
the  dust  before  her,  and  implored  forgiveness  in  terms 
better  suited  to  a  convicted  thief  than  to  a  knight  of 
the  shire.  For  these  he  joined,  and  for  these  he  forsook, 
Lord  Essex.  He  continued  to  plead  his  patron's  cause 
with  the  Queen' as  long  as  he  thought  that  by  pleading 
>hat  cause  he  might  serve  himself.  Nay,  he  went 
further  ;  for  his  feelings,  though  not  warm,  were  kind  ; 
he  pleaded  that  cause  as  long  as  he  thought  that  he 
could  plead  it  without  injury  to  himself.  But  when  it 
became  evident  that  Essex  was  going  headlong  to  his 
ruin,  Bacon  beo;an  to  tremble  for  his  own  fortunes. 

'  O 

What  he  had  to  fear  would  not  indeed  have  been  very 
alarming  to  a  man  of  lofty  character.  It  was  not  death. 
It  was  not  imprisonment.  It  was  the  loss  of  court 
favour.  It  was  the  being  left  behind  by  others  in  the 
jareer  of  ambition.  It  was  the  having  leisure  to  finish 
the  Instauratio  Magna.  The  Queen  looked  coldly  on 
him.  The  courtiers  began  to  consider  him  as  a  marked 


882  LORD  BACON. 

man.  He  determined  to  change  his  line  of  conduct, 
and  to  pi'oceed  in  a  new  course  with  so  much  vigour 
as  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  When  once  he  had  de- 
termined to  act  against  his  friend,  knowing  himself  to 
be  suspected,  he  acted  with  more  zeal  than  would  liavr; 
been  necessary  or  justifiable  if  he  had  been  employed 
against  a  stranger.  He  exerted  his  professional  talents 
to  shed  the  Earl's  blood,  and  his  literary  talents  to 
blacken  the  Earl's  memory. 

It  is  certain  that  his  conduct  excited  at  the  time 
great  and  general  disapprobation.  While  Elizabeth 
lived,  indeed,  "this  disapprobation,  though  deeply  felt, 
was  not  loudly  expressed.  But  a  great  change  was 
at  hand.  The  health  of  the  Queen  had  long  been 
decaying  ;  and  the  operation  of  age  and  disease  wag 
now  assisted  by  acute  mental  suffering.  The  piti- 
able melancholy  of  her  last  days  has  generally  been 
ascribed  to  her  fond  regret  for  Essex.  But  we  are 
disposed  to  attribute  her  dejection  partly  to  physical 
causes,  and  partly  to  the  conduct  of  her  courtiers  and 
ministers.  They  did  all  in  their  power  to  conceal 
from  her  the  intrigues  which  they  were  carrying  on 
at  the  Court  of  Scotland.  But  her  keen  sagacity  was 
not  to  be  so  deceived.  She  did  not  know  the  whole. 
But  she  knew  that  she  was  surrounded  by  men  who 
*rere  impatient  for  that  new  world  which  was  to  begin 
at  her  death,  who  had  never  been  attached  to  her  by 
affection,  and  who  were  now  but  very  slightly  attached 
to  her  by  interest.  Prostration  and  flattery  could 
not  ronceal  from  her  the  cruel  truth,  that  those  whom 
elie  had  trusted  and  promoted  had  never  loved  her, 
und  were  fast  ceasing  to  fear  her.  Unable  to  avenge 
herself,  and  too  proud  to  complain,  she  suffered  sor- 
row and  resentment  to  prey  on  her  heart,  till,  after  a 


LORD  BACON.  383 

long  career  of  power,  prosperity,  and  glory,  she  died 
sick  and  weary  of  tlie  world. 

James  mounted  the  throne  :  and  Bacon  employee? 
all  his  address  to  obtain  for  himself  a  share  of  tha 
favour  of  his  new  master.  This  was  no  difficult  task. 
Tin1  faults-  of  James,  both  as  a  man  and  as  a  prince, 
were  numerous ;  but  insensibility  to  the  claims  of 
genius  and  learning  was  not  among  them.  He  was 
indeed  made  up  of  two  men,  a  witty,  well-read  scholar, 
who  wrote,  disputed  and  harangued,  and  a  nervous, 
drivelling  idiot,  who  acted.  If  he  had  been  a  Canon 
of  Christ  Church,  or  a  Prebendary  of  Westminster,  it 
is  not  improbable  that  he  would  have  left  a  highly 
respectable  name  to  posterity ;  that  he  would  have  dis- 
tinguished himself  among  the.  translators  of  the  Bible, 
and  among  the  Divines  who  attended  the  Synod  of 
Dort ;  and  that  he  would  have  been  regarded  by  the 
literary  world  as  no  contemptible  rival  of  Vossius  and 
Casaubon.  But  fortune  placed  him  in  a  situation  in 
which  his  weaknesses  covered  him  with  disgrace,  and 
in  which  his  accomplishments  brought  him  no  .honour. 
In  a  college,  much  eccentricity  and  childishness  would 
have  been  readily  pardoned  in  so  learned  a  man.  But 
all  that  learning  could  do  for  him  on  the  throne  was  to 
make  people  think  him  a  pedant  as  well  as  a  fool. 

Bacon  was  favourably  received  at  Court ;  and  soon 
found  that  his  chance  of  promotion  was  not  diminished 
by  the  death  of  the  Queen.  He  was  .solicitous  to  be 
jmighted,  for  two  reasons  whicli  are  somewhat  amus- 
ing. The  King  had  already  dubbed  half  London,  and 
Bacon  found  himself  the  only  untitled  person  in  his 
mess  at  Gray's  Inn.  This  was  not  very  agreeable  to 
\iirn.  He  had  also,  to  quote  his  own  words,  "  found 
«m  Alderman's  daughter,  a  handsome  maiden,  to  his 


384  LORD  BACON. 

liking."  On  bt:h  these  grounds,  he  beggea  his  coxisin 
Robert  Cecil,  "  if  it  might  please  his  good  Lordship," 
to  use  his  interest  in  his  behalf.  The  application  wa8 
successful.  Bacon  was  one  of  three  hundred  gentle- 
men who,  on  the  coronation-day,  received  the  honour, 
if  it  is  to  be  so  called,  of  knighthood.  The  handsome 
maiden,  a  daughter  of  Alderman  Barnham,  soon  after 
consented  to  become  Sir  Francis's  lady. 

The  death  of  Elizabeth,  though  on  the  whole  it  im- 
proved Bacon's  prospects,  was  in  one  respect  an  unfor- 
tunate event  for  him.  The  new  King  had  always  felt 
kindly  towards  Lord  Essex,  and,  as  soon  as  he  came  to 
the  throne,  began  to  show  favour  to  the  house  of  Dev- 
ereux,  and  to  those  who  had  stood  by  that  house  in 
its  adversity.  Everybody  was  now  at  liberty  to  speak 
out  respecting  those  lamentable  events  in  which  Bacon 
had  borne  so  large  a  share.  Elizabeth  was  scarcely 
cold  when  the  public  feeling  began  to  manifest  itself  by 
marks  of  respect  towards  Lord  Southampton.  That 
accomplished  nobleman,  who  will  be  remembered  to 
the  latest  ages  as  the  generous  and  discerning  patron  of 
Shakspeare,  was  held  in  honour  by  his  contemporaries 
chiefly  on  account  of  the  devoted  affection  which  he 
had  borne  to  Essex.  He  had  been  tried  and  convicted 
together  with  his  friend ;  but  the  Queen  had  spared  his 
Jife,  and,  at  the  time  of  her  death,  he  was  still  a  prison- 
er. A  crowd  of  visitors  hastened  to  the  Tower  to 
congratulate  him  on  his  approaching  deliverance.  With 
that  crowd  Bacon  could  not  venture  to  mingle.  The 
multitude  loudly  condemned  him  ;  and  his  conscience 
told  him  that  the  multitude  had  but  too  much  reason. 
He  excused  himself  to  Southampton  by  letter,  in  termg 
which,  if  he  had,  as  Mr.  Montagu  conceives,  done  only 
tthat  as  a  subject  and  an  advocate  he  was  bound  to  do 


LORD  BACOX  385 

must  be  considered  as  shamefully  servile.  He  owna 
his  fear  that  liis  attendance  would  give  offence,  and 
that  his  professions  of  regard  would  obtain  no  credit. 
"  Yet,"  says  he,  "it  is  as  true  as  a  thing  that  God 
knoweth,  that  this  great  change  hath  wrought  in  me 
no  other  change  towards  your  Lordship  than  this,  that 
I  may  safely  be  that  to  you  now  which  I  was  truly 
before." 

How  Southampton  received  these  apologies  we  are  not 
informed.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  general  opinion 
was  pronounced  against  Bacon  in  a  manner  not  to  be 
misunderstood.  Soon  after  his  marriage  he  put  forth  a 
defence  of  his  conduct,  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  the 
Earl  of  Devon.  This  tract  seems  to  us  to  prove  only 
the  exceeding  badness  of  a  cause  for  which  such  talents 
could  do  so  little. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Bacon's  Defence  had  much 
effect  on  his  contemporaries.  But  the  unfavourable 
impression  which  his  conduct  had  made  appears  to  have 
been  gradually  effaced.  Indeed  it  must  be  some  very 
peculiar  cause  that  can  make  a  man  like  him  long  un- 
Dopular.  His  talents  secured  him  from  contempt,  his 
jemper  and  his  manners  from  hatred.  There  is  scarcely 
any  story  so  black  that  it  may  not  be  got  over  by  a 
man  of  great  abilities,  whose  abilities  are  united  with 
caution,  good-humour,  patience,  and  affability,  who 
pays  daily  sacrifice  to  Nemesis,  who  is  a  delightful  com- 
panion, a  serviceable  though  not  an  ardent  friend,  and 
a  dangerous  yet  a  placable  enemy.  Waller  in  the  next 
generation  was  an  eminent  instance  of  this.  Indeed 
Waller  had  much  more  than  may  at  first  sight  appear 
in  common  with  Bacon.  To  the  higher  intellectual 
|ualities  of  the  great  English  philosopher,  to  the  geniua 
fvhich  has  made  an  immortal  er>ocli  in  the  history  of 
VOL  ni.  17 


LORD  BACON. 

science,  Waller  had  indeed  no  pretensions.  But  the 
mind  of  Waller,  as  far  as  it  extended,  coincided  with 
that  of  Bacon,  and  might,  so  to  speak,  have  heen  cut 
out  of  that  of  Bacon.  In  the  qualities  which  make  a 
man  an  object  of  interest  and  veneration  to  posterity, 
they  cannot  be  compared  together.  But  in  the  qualities 
by  which  chiefly  a  man  is  known  to  his  contemporaries 
there  was  a  striking  similarity  between  them.  Consid- 
ered as  men  of  the  Avorld,  as  courtiers,  as  politicians,  as 
associates,  as  allies,  as  enemies,  they  had  nearly  the  same 
merits,  and  the  same  defects.  They  were  not  malignant. 
They  were  not  tyrannical.  But  they  wanted  warmth  of 
affection  and  elevation  of  sentiment.  There  were  many 
things  which  they  loved  better  than  virtue,  and  which 
they  feared  more  than  guilt.  Yet,  even  after  they  had 
stooped  to  acts  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  read  the 
account  in  the  most  partial  narratives  without  strong 
disapprobation  and  contempt,  the  public  still  continued 
to  regard  them  with  a  feeling  not  easily  to  be  distin- 
guished from-esteem.  The  hyperbole  of  Juliet  seemed 
to  be  verified  with  respect  to  them.  "  Upon  their 
brows  shame  was  ashamed  to  sit."  Everybody  seemed 
as  desirous  to  throw  a  veil  over  their  misconduct  as  if 
it  had  been  his  own.  Clarendon,  who  felt,  and  who 
had  reason  to  feel,  strong  personal  dislike  towards  Wal- 
ler, speaks  of  him  thus  :  "  There  needs  no  more  to  be 
said  to  extol  the  excellence  and  power  of  his  wit  and 
pleasantness  of  his  conversation,  than  that  it  was  of 
magnitude  enough  to  cover  a  world  of  very  great 
faults,  that  is,  so  to  cover  them  that  they  were  not 
taken  notice  of  to  his  reproach,  viz.  a  narrowness 
\n  Ins  nature  to  the  lowest  degree,  an  abjectness  and 
Want  of  courage  to  support  him  in  any  virtuous  under- 
taking, an  insinuation  and  servile  flattery  to  the  height 


LORD  BACON.  387 

the  vainest  and  most  imperious  nature  could  be  con- 
tented with.  ...  It  had  power  to  reconcile  him  to 
those  whom  he  had  most  offended  and  provoked,  and 
continued  to  his  age  with  that  rare  felicity,  that  his 
company  was  acceptable  where  his  spirit  was  odious, 
and  he  was  at  least  pitied  where  he  was  most  detested." 
Much  of  this,  with  some  softening,  might,  we  fear,  be 
applied  to  Bacon.  The  influence  of  Waller's  talents, 
manners,  and  accomplishments,  died  with  him  ;  and 
the  world  has  pronounced  an  unbiassed  sentence  on 
his  character.  A  few  flowing  lines  are  not  bribe  suf- 
ficient to  pervert  the  judgment  of  posterity.  But  the 
influence  of  Bacon  is  felt  and  will  long  be  felt  over  the 
whole  civilised  world.  Leniently  as  he  was  treated  by 
his  contemporaries,  posterity  has  treated  him  more  len- 
iently still.  Turn  Avhere  we  may,  the  trophies  of  that 
mighty  intellect  are  full  in  view.  We  are  judging 
Manlius  in  sight  of  the  Capitol. 

Under  the  reign  of  James,  Bacon  grew  rapidly  in 
fortune  and  favour.  In  1604  he  was  appointed  King's 
Counsel,  with  a  fee  of  forty  pounds  a  year ;  and  a  pen- 
sion of  sixty  pounds  a  year  was  settled  upon  him.  In 
1607  he  became  Solicitor-General,  in  1612  Attorney- 
General.  He  continued  to  distinguish  himself  in  Par- 
liament, particularly  by  his  exertions  in  favour  of  one 
excellent  measure  on  which  the  King's  heart  was  set, 
the  union  of  England  and  Scotland.  It  was  not  diffi- 
cult for  such  an  intellect  to  discover  many  irresistible 
arguments  in  favour  of  such  a  scheme.  He  conducted 
the  great  case  of  the  Post  Nati  in  the  Exchequer 
Chamber ;  and  the  decision  of  the  judges,  a  decision 
the  legality  of  which  may  be  questioned,  but  the  bene- 
licial  effect  of  which  must  be*  acknowledged,  was  in  a 
,  great  measure  attributed  to  his  dexterous  management 


388  LORD   BACOX. 

While  actively  engaged  in  the  House  of  Commons  ana 
in  the  courts  of  law,  he  still  found  leisure  for  letters 
and  philosophy.  The  noble  treatise  on  the  "  Advance- 
ment of  Learning,"  which  at  a  later  period  was  ex- 
panded into  the  De  Augmentis,  appeared  in  1605. 
The  "  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients,"  a  work  which,  if  i 
had  proceeded  from  any  other  writer,  would  have  been 
considered  as  a  masterpiece  of  wit  and  learning,  but 
which  adds  little  to  the  fame  of  Bacon,  was  printed  in 
1609.  In  the  mean  time  the  Novum  Organum  was 
slowly  proceeding.  Several  distinguished  men  of  learn- 
ing had  been  permitted  to  see  sketches  or  detached  por- 
tions of  that  extraordinary  book  ;  and,  though  they 
were  not  generally  disposed  to  admit  the  soundness  of 
the  author's  views,  they  spoke  with  the  greatest  ad- 
miration of  his  genius.  Sir  Thomas  Bodley,  the 
founder  of  one  of  the  most  magnificent  of  English 
libraries,  was  among  those  stubborn  Conservatives  who 
considered  the  hopes  with  which  Bacon  looked  for- 
ward to  the  future  destinies  of  the  human  race  as 
utterly  chimerical,  and  who  regarded  with  distrust 
and  aversion  the  innovating  spirit  of  the  new  schis- 
matics in  philosophy.  Yet  even  Bodley,  after  penis- 
ing  the  Cogitata  et  Visa,  one  of  the  most  precious  of 
those  scattered  leaves  out  of  which  the  great  oracular 
volume  was  afterwards  made  up,  acknowledged  that  in 
"  those  very  points,  and  in  all  proposals  and  plots  in 
that  book,  Bacon  showed  himself  a  master-workman  ; " 
and  that  "  it  could  not  be  gainsaid  but  all  the  treatise 
over  did  abound  with  choice  conceits  of  the  present 
state  of  learning,  and  with  worthy  contemplations  of 
the  means  to  procure  it."  In  1612,  a  new  edition  of 
the  "  Essays  "  appeared,  with  additions  surpassing  the 
original  collection  both  in  bulk  and  quality.  Nor  did 


LORD  BACOX.  389 

these  pursuits  distract  Bacon's  attention  from  a  work 
the  most  arduous,  the  most  glorious,  and  the  most  use- 
fid  that  even  his  mighty  powers  could  have  achieved, 
"  the  reducing  and  recompiling,"  to  use  his  own  phrase, 
*'  of  the  laws  of  England." 

Unhappily  he  was  at  that  very  time  employed  in 
perverting  those  laws  to  the  vilest  purposes  of  tyranny 
When  Oliver  St.  John  was  brought  before  the  Star 
Chamber  for  maintaining  that  the  King  had  no  right 
to  levy  Benevolences,  and  was  for  his  manly  and  con- 
stitutional conduct  sentenced  to  imprisonment  during 
the  royal  pleasure  and  to  a  fine  of  five  thousand 
pounds,  Bacon  appeared  as  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 
About  the  same  time  he  was  deeply  engaged  in  a  still 
more  disgraceful  transaction.  An  aged  clergyman,  of 
the  name  of  Peacham,  was  accused  of  treason  on  ac- 
count of  some  passages  of  a  sermon  which  was  found 
in  his  study.  The  sermon,  whether  written  by  him  or 
not,  had  never  been  preached.  It  did  not  appear  that 
he  had  any  intention  of  preaching  it.  The  most  ser- 
vile lawyers  of  those  servile  times  were  forced  to  admit 
that  there  were  great  difficulties  both  as  to  the  facts 
and  as  to  the  law.  Bacon  was  employed  to  remove 
those  difficulties.  He  was  employed  to  settle  the  ques- 
tion of  law  by  tampering  with  the  judges,  and  the 
question  of  fact  by  torturing  the  prisoner. 

Three  judges  of  the  Court  of  King's  Bench  were 
tractable.  But  Coke  was  made  of  different  stuff.  Ped- 
ant, bigot,  and  brute  as  he  was,  he  had  qualities  which. 
bore  a  strong,  though  a  very  disagreeable  resemblance 
to  some  of  the  highest  virtues  wnich  a  public  man  can 
possess.  He  was  an  exception  to  a  maxim  which  we 
believe  tp  be  generally  true,  that  those  who  trample 
»n  the  helpless  are  disposed  to  cringe  to  the  powerful. 


90  LORD  BACON. 

He  behaved  with  gross  rudeness  to  his  juniors  at  the 
bar,  and  with  execrable  cruelty  to  prisoners  on  trial  for| 
their  lives.  But  he  stood  up  manfully  against  the 
King  and  the  King's  favourites.  No  man  of  that  age 
appeared  to  so  little  advantage  when  he  was  opposed  to 
an  inferior,  and  was  in  the  wrong.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  but  fair  to  admit  that  no  man  of  that  age 
made  so  creditable  a  figure  when  he  was  opposed  to  a 
superior,  and  happened  to  be  in  the  right.  On  such 
occasions,  his  halt-suppressed  insolence  and  his  imprac- 
ticable obstinacy  had  a  respectable  and  interesting 
appearance,  when  compared  with  the  abject  servility 
of  the  bar  and  of  the  bench.  On  the  present  occasion 
he  was  stubborn  and  surly,  lie  declared  that  it  was  a 
new  and  a  highly  improper  practice  in  the  judges  to 
confer  with  a  law-officer  of  the  crown  about  capital 
cases  which  they  were  afterwards  to  try ;  and  for  some 
time  he  resolutely  kept  aloof.  But  Bacon  was  equally 
artful  and  persevering.  "  I  am  not  wholly  out  of  hope," 
said  he  in  a  letter  to  the  King,  "  that  my  Lord  Coke 
himself,  when  I  have  in  some  dark  manner  put  him  in 
doubt  that  he  shall  be  left  alone,  will  not  be  singular." 
After  some  time  Bacon's  dexterity  was  successful ;  and 
Coke,  sullenly  and  reluctantly,  followed  the  example  of 
his  brethren.  But  in  order  to  convict  Peacham  it  was 
necessary  to  find  facts  as  well  as  law.  Accordingly, 
this  \vretched  old  man  was  put  to  the  rack,  and,  while 
under r-'oino1  the  horrible  infliction,  was  examined  bv  Ba- 

O  O  »/ 

con.  but  in  vain.  No  confession  could  be  wrung  out  of 
him ;  and  Bacon  wrote  to  the  King,  complaining  that 
Peacham  had  a  dumb  devil.  At  length  the  trial  cr.me 
on.  A  conviction  was  obtained  ;  but  the  charges  were 
lo  obviously  futile,  that  the  government  could  not,  for 
Keiy  shame,  carry  the  sentence  into  execution  ;  and 


LORD  BACON.  391 

Peacham  was  suffered  to  languish  away  the  short  re- 
mainder of  liis  life  in  a  prison. 

All  this  frightful  story  Mr.  Montagu  relates  fairly 
Ho  neither  conceals  nor  distorts  any  material  fact.  But 
he  can  see  nothing  deserving  of  condemnation  m  Ba- 
con's conduct.  lie  tells  us  most  truly  that  we  ought 
not  to  try  the  men  of  one  age  by  the  standard  of 
another ;  that  Sir  Matthew  Hale  is  not  to  be  pro- 
nounced a  bad  man  because  he  left  a  woman  to  be  ex- 
ecuted for  witchcraft ;  that  posterity  will  not  be  justified 
in  censuring  judges  of  our  time,  for  selling  offices  in 
their  courts,  according  to  the  established  practice,  bad 
as  that  practice  was  ;  and  that  Bacon  is  entitled  to  sim- 
ilar indulgence.  "To  persecute  the  lover  of  truth," 
says  Mr.  Montagu,  "  for  opposing  established  customs, 
and  to  censure  him  in  after  ages  for  not  having  been 
more  strenuous  in  opposition,  are  errors  which  will 
never  cease  until  the  pleasure  of  self-elevation  from  the 
depression  of  superiority  is  no  more." 

We  have  no  dispute  with  Mr.  Montagu  about  the 
general  proposition.  We  assent  to  every  word  of  it. 
But  does  it  apply  to  the  present  case  ?  Is  it  true  that 
in  the  timo  of  James  the  First  it  was  the  established 
practice  for  the  law-officers  of  the  Crown,  to  hold  pri- 
vate consultations  with  the  judges,  touching  capital 
cases  which  those  judges  were  afterwards  to  try  ?  Cer- 
tainly not.  In  the  very  page  in  which  Mr.  Montagu 
asserts  that  "  the  influencing  a  judge  out  of  court  seems 
at  that  period  scarcely  to  have  been  considered  as  im- 
proper," he  gives  the  very  words  of  Sir  Edward  Coke 
v.i  the  subject.  "  I  will  not  thus  declare  what  may  be 
my  judgment  by  these  auricular  confessions  of  new  and 
pernicious  tendency,  and  not  according  to  the  customi 
vftlie  realn:"  Is  it  possible  to  imagine  that  Coke,  who 


892  LORD  BACON 

had  himself  been  Attorney-General  during  thirteen 
years,  who  had  conducted  a  far  greater  number  of  im- 
portant state-prosecution o  than  any  other  lawyer  named 
in  English  history,  and  who  had  passed  with  scarcely 
any  interval  from  the  Attorney-Generalship  to  the  first 
seat  in  the  first  criminal  court  in  the  realm,  could  havs 
been  startled  at  an  invitation  to  confer  with  the  crown- 
lawyers,  and  could  have  pronounced  the  practice  new, 
if  it  had  really  been  an  established  usage  ?  We  welJ 
know  that,  where  property  only  was  at  stake,  it  was 
then  a  common,  though  a  most  culpable  practice,  in  the 
judges,  to  listen  to  private  solicitations.  But  the  prac- 
tice of  tampering  with  judges  in  order  to  procure  capital 
convictions  we  believe  to  have  been  new,  first,  because 
Coke,  who  understood  those  matters  better  than  any 
man  of  his  time,  asserted  it  to  be  new  ;  and  secondly, 
because  neither  Bacon  nor  Mr.  Montagu  has  shown  a 
single  precedent. 

How  then  stands  the  case  ?  Even  thus  :  Bacon  was 
not  conforming  to  an  usage  then  generally  admitted  to 
be  proper.  He  was  not  even  the  last  lingering  adherent 
of  an  old  abuse.  It  would  have  been  sufficiently  dis- 
graceful to  such  a  man  to  be  in  this  last  situation.  Yet 
this  last  situation  would  have  been  honourable  compared 
with  that  in  which  he  stood.  He  was  guilty  of  attempt- 
ing to  introduce  into  the  courts  of  law  an  odious  abuse 
for  which  no  precedent  could  be  found.  Intellectually, 
he  was  better  fitted  than  any  man  that  England  has 
ever  produced  for  the  work  of  improving  her  institu- 
tions. But,  unhappily,  we  see  that  he  did  not  scruple 
to  exert  his  great  powers  for  the  purpose  of  introducing 
into  those  institutions  new  corruptions  of  the  foulest 
tind. 

The  same,  or  nearly  the  same,  may  be  said  of  the 


LORD  BACON.  393 

torturing  of  Peacliam.  If  it  be  true  that  in  the  time 
of  James  the  First  the  propriety  of  torturing  prisoners 
was  generally  allowed,  we  should  admit  this  as  an 
excuse,  though  we  should  admit  it  less  readily  in  tha 
case  of  such  a  man  as  Bacon  than  in  the  case  of  an 
ordinary  lawyer  or  politician.  But  the  fact  is,  that 
the  practice  of  torturing  prisoners  was  then  generally 
acknowledged  by  lawyers  to  be  illegal,  and  was  exe- 
crated by  the  public  as  barbarous.  More  than  thirty 
years  before  Peacham's  trial,  that  practice  was  so  loudly 
condemned  by  the  voice  of  the  nation  that  Lord  Bur- 
leigli  found  it  necessary  to  publish  an  apology  for  hav- 
ing occasionally  resorted  to  it.  But  though  tlie  dangers 
which  then  threatened  the  government  were  of  a  very 
different  kind  from  those  which  were  to  be  appre- 
hended from  any  thing  that  Peacham  could  write, 
though  the  life  of  the  Queen  and  the  dearest  interests 
of  the  state  were  in  jeopardy,  though  the  circumstances 
were  such  that  all  ordinary  laws  might  seem  to  be  super- 
seded by  that  highest  law,  the  public  safety,  the  apol- 
ogy did  not  satisfy  the  country  :  and  the  Queen  found 
it  expedient  to  issue  an  order  positively  forbidding  the 
torturing  of  state-prisoners  on  any  pretence  whatever. 
From  that  time,  the  practice  of  torturing,  which  had 
always  been  unpopular,  which  had  always  been  illegal, 
had  also  been  unusual.  It  is  well  known  that  in  1628, 
only  fourteen  years  after  the  time  when  Bacon  went 
to  the  Tower  to  listen  to  the  yells  of  Peacham,  the 
judges  decided  that  Felton,  a  criminal  who  neither 
deserved  nor  was  likely  to  obtain  any  extraordinary 
indulgence,  could  not  lawfully  be  put  to  the  question. 
We  therefore  say  that  Bacon  stands  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent situation  from  that  in  which  Mr.  Montagu  tries 
,o  place  him.  Bacon  was  here  distinctly  behind  his 


894  LORD  BACON 

age.  He  was  one  of  the  last  of  the  tools  of  power  who 
persisted  in  a  practice  the  most  baibarous  and  the  most 
absurd  that  lias  ever  disgraced  jurisprudence,  in  a  prac- 
tice of  which,  in  the  preceding  generation,  Elizabeth 
and  her  ministers  had  been  ashamed,  in  a  practice 
which,  a  few  years  later,  no  sycophant  in  all  the  Inns 
nf  Court  had  the  heart  or  the  forehead  to  defend.1 

Bacon  far  behind  his  age  !  Bacon  far  behind  Sir 
Edward  Coke  !  Bacon  clinging  to  exploded  abuses ! 
Bacon  withstanding  the  progress  of  improvement ! 
Bacon  struggling  to  push  back  the  human  mind  !  The 
words  seem  strange.  They  sound  like  a  contradiction 
in  terms.  Yet  the  fact  is  even  so :  and  the  explana- 
tion may  be  readily  found  by  any  person  who  is  not 
blinded  by  prejudice.  Mr.  Montagu  cannot  believe 
that  so  extraordinary  a  man  as  Bacon  could  be  guilty 
of  a  bad  action  ;  as  if  history  were  not  made  up  of 
the  bad  actions  of  extraordinary  men,  as  if  all  the  most 
noted  destroyers  and  deceivers  of  our  species,  all  the 
founders  of  arbitrary  governments  and  false  religions, 
had  not  been  extraordinary  men,  as  if  nine  tenths  of 
the  calamities  which  have  befallen  the  human  race  had 
any  other  origin  than  the  union  of  high  intelligence 
with  low  desires. 

Bacon  knew  this  well.     He  has  told  us  that  there 

1  Since  this  Review  was  written,  Mr.  Janline  has  published  a  very 
.earned  and  ingenious  Reading  on  the  use  of  torture  in  England.  It  has 
not,  however,  been  thought  necessary  to  make  any  change  in  the  observa- 
tion'? on  I'cacham's  case. 

It  is  impossible  to  discuss  within  the  limits  of  a  note,  the  extensive 
ccestion  raised  by  Mr.  Janline.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  say  that  every 
argument  by  which  he  attempts  to  show  that  the  use  of  the  nick  was 
tticiently  a  lawful  exertion  of  royal  prerogative  may  be  urged  with  equal 
force,  nay  with  far  greater  force,  to  prove  the  lawfulness  of  benevolences, 
cf  ship-money,  of  Mompesson's  patent,  of  Eliot's  imprisonment,  of  every 
ibuse.  without  exception,  which  is  condemned  by  the  Petition  of  Rigt 
md  tho  Declaration  of  Right. 


LORD  BACON.  395 

aie  persons  "  scientia  tanquam  angeli  alati,  cupiditati- 
bus  vero  tanquam  serpentes  qui  humi  reptant ; "  * 
and  it  did  not  require  his  admirable  sagacity  and  his 
extensive  converse  with  mankind  to  make  the  discov- 
ery. Indeed,  he  had  only  to  look  with'.n.  The  dif- 
ference between  the  soaring  angel  and  the  creeping 
sna^e  was  but  a  type  of  the  difference  between  Baccu 
the  philosopher  and  Bacon  the  Attorney-General, 
Bacon  seeking  for  truth,  and  Bacon  seeking  for  the 
Seals.  Those  who  survey  only  one  half  of  his  char- 
acter may  speak  of  him  with  unmixed  admiration,  or 
with  unmixed  contempt.  But  those  only  judge  of 
him  correctly  who  take  in  at  one  view  Bacon  in 
speculation  and  Bacon  in  action.  They  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  comprehending  how  one  and  the  same 
man  should  have  been  far  before  his  age  and  far  behind 
it,  in  one  line  the  boldest  and  most  useful  of  innovators, 
in  another  line  the  most  obstinate  champion  of  the 
foulest  abuses.  In  his  library,  all  his  rare  powers  were 
under  the  guidance  of  an  honest  ambition,  of  an  en- 
larged philanthropy,  of  a  sincere  love  of  truth.  There, 
no  temptation  drew  him  away  from  the  right  course. 
Thomas  Aquinas  could  pay  no  fees,  Duns  Scotus 
could  confer  no  peerages.  The  Master  of  the  Sen- 
tences had  no  rich  reversions  in  his  gift.  Far  different 
was  the  situation  of  the  great  philosopher  when  he 
came  forth  from  his  study  and  his  laboratory  to  mingle 
with  the  crowd  which  filled  the  galleries  of  Whitehall. 
In  ?.ll  that  crowd  there  was  no  man  equally  qualified 
to  render  great  and  lasting  services  to  mankind.  But 
in  all  that  crowd  there  Was  not  a  heart  more  set  on 
Jimgs  which  no  man  ought  to  suffer  to  be  necessary  to 

1  DC  Auguitiitii,  Lib.  v.  Cap.  1. 


£90  LORD  BACOtf. 

lus  happiness,  on  tilings  which  can  often  be  obtained 
only  by  the  sacrifica  of  integrity  and  honour.  To  be 
the  leader  of  the  human  race  in  the  career  of  improve- 
ment, to  found  on  the  ruins  of  ancient  intellectual 
dynasties  a  more  prosperous  and  a  more  enduring 
empire,  to  be  revered  by  the  latest  generations  as  the 
most  illustrious  among  the  benefactors  of  mankind,  all 
this  was  within  his  reach.  But  ah1  this  availed  him 
nothing  while  some  quibbling  special  pleader  was  pro- 
moted before  him  to  the  bench,  while  some  heavy 
country  gentleman  took  precedence  of  him  by  virtue  of 
a  purchased  coronet,  while  some  pandar,  happy  in  a 
fair  wife,  could  obtain  a  more  cordial  salute  from 
Buckingham,  while  some  buffoon,  versed  in  all  the 
latest  scandal  of  the  court,  could  draw  a  louder  lau^h 

'  O 

from  James. 

During  a  long  course  of  years,  Bacon's  unworthy 
ambition  was  crowned  with  success.  His  sagacity 
early  enabled  him  to  perceive  who  was  likely  to  be- 
come the  most  powerful  man  in  the  kingdom.  He 
probably  knew  the  King's  mind  before  it  was  known 
to  the  King  himself,  and  attached  himself  to  Villiers, 
while  the  less  discerning  crowd  of  courtiers  still  con- 
tinued to  fawn  on  Somerset.  The  influence  of  the 
younger  favourite  became  greater  daily.  The  contest 
between  the  rivals  might,  however,  have  lasted  long, 
but  for  that  frightful  crime  which,  in  spite  of  all  that 
could  be  effected  by  the  research  and  ingenuity  of 
historians,  is  still  covered  with  so  mysterious  an  obscu- 
rity. The  descent  of  Somerset  had  been  a  gradual  and 
almost  imperceptible  lapse.  It  now  became  a  headlong 
*all ;  and  Villiers,  left  without  a  competitor,  rapidly 
rose  to  a  height  of  power  such  as  no  subject  since 
Wolsey  had  attained. 


LORD  BACOX.  397 

There  were  many  points  of  resemblance  between  the 
two  celebrated  courtiers  who,  at  different  times,  ex- 
tended their  patronage  to  Bacon.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
whether  Essex  or  Villiers  was  more  eminently  distin- 
guished by  those  graces  of  person  and  manner  which 
have  always  been  rated  in  courts  at  'much  more  than 
their  real  value.  Both  were  constitutionally  brave  j 
and  both,  like  most  men  who  are  constitutionally  brave, 
were  open  and  unreserved.  Both  were  rash  and 
headstrong.  Both  were  destitute  of  the  abilities  and 
of  the  information  which  are  necessary  to  statesmen. 
Yet  both,  trusting  to  the  accomplishments  which  had 
made  them  conspicuous  in  tilt-yards  ind  ball-rooms, 
aspired  to  rule  the  state.  Both  owed  t'.ieir  elevation  tu 
the  personal  attachment  of  the  sovereign  ;  and  in  both 
cases  this  attachment  was  of  so  eccentric  a  kind,  that 
it  perplexed  observers,  that  it  still  continues  to  perplex 
historians,  and  that  it  gave  rise  to  much  scandal  which 
we  are  inclined  to  think  unfounded.  Each  of  them 
treated  the  sovereign  whose  favour  he  enjoyed  with  a 
rudeness  which  approached  to  insolence.  This  petu- 
lance ruined  Essex,  who  had  to  deal  with  a  spirit  natu- 
rally as  proud  as  his  own,  and  accustomed,  during  near 
half  a  century,  to  the  most  respectful  observance.  But 
there  was  a  wide  difference  between  the  haughty 
daughter  of  Henry  and  her  successor.  James  was 
timid  from  the  cradle.  His  nerves,  naturally  weak, 
had  not  been  fortified  by  reflection  or  by  habit.  His 
life,  till  he  came  to  England,  had  been  a  series  of 
nullifications  and  humiliations.  With  all  his  high 
notions  of  the  origin  and  extent  of  his  prerogatives,  he 
was  never  his  own  master  for  a  day.  In  spite  of  hia 
kingly  title,  in  spite  of  his  despotic  theories,  he  was  to 
the  "last  a  slave  at  heart.  Villiers  treated  him  like 


S9S  LORD  BACOiV. 

one  _  and  tKs  course,  though  adopted,  we  believe 
merely  from  temper,  succeeded  as  well  as  if  it  had  beer. 
a  system  of  policy  formed  after  mature  deliberation. 

In  generosity,  in  sensibility,  in  capacity  for  friend- 
ship, Essex  far  surpassed  Buckingham.  Indeed,  Buck- 
ingham can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  any  friend, 
with  the  exception  of  the  two  princes  over  whom  suc- 
cessively he  exercised  so  wonderful  an  influence.  Essex 
was  to  the  last  adored  by  the  people.  Buckingham  was 
always  a  most  unpopular  man,  except  perhaps  for  a  very 
short  time  after  his  return  from  the  childish  visit  to 
Spain.  Essex  fell  a  victim  to  the  rigour  of  the  govern- 
ment amidst  the  lamentations  of  the  people.  Bucking- 
ham, execrated  by  the  people,  and  solemnly  declared  a 
public  enemy  by  the  representatives  6f  the  people,  fell 
by  the  hand  of  one  of  the  people,  and  was  lamented  by 
none  but  his  master. 

The  way  in  which  the  two  favourites  acted  towards 
Bacon  was  highly  characteristic,  and  may  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  old  and  true  saying,  that  a  man  is  generally 
more  inclined  to  feel  kindly  towards  one  on  whom  he 
has  conferred  favours  than  towards  one  from  whom  he 
has  received  them.  Essex  loaded  Bacon  with  benefits, 
and  never  thought  that  he  had  done  enough.  It  seems 
never  to  have  crossed  the  mind  of  the  powerful  and 
wealthy  noble  that  the  poor  barrister  whom  he  treated 
with  such  munificent  kindness  was  not  his  equal.  It 
was,  we  have  no  doubt,  with  perfect  sincerity  that  the 
Earl  declared  that  he  would  willingly  give  his  sister  or 

O   */      ~ 

daughter  in  marriage  to  his  friend.  He  was  in  general 
more  than  sufficiently  sensible  of  his  own  merits  ;  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  know  that  he  had  ever  deserved 
well  of  Bacon,.  On  that  cruel  day  when  they  saw  each 
other  for  the  last  time  at  the  bar  of  the  Lords,  Esses 


LORD  BACOX.  399 

taxed  his  perfidious  friend  with  unkindness  and  insin 
cerity,  but  never  with  ingratitude.  Even  in  such  a 
moment,  more  bitter  than  the  bitterness  of  death. 
that  noble  heart  was  too  great  to  vent  itself  in  such  a 
reproach. 

Villiers,  on  the  other  hand,  owed  much  to  Bacon. 
When  their  acquaintance  began,  Sir  Francis  was  a 
man  of  mature  age,  of  high  station,  and  of  established 
fame  as  a  politician,  an  advocate,  and  a  writer.  Vil- 
liers was  little  more  than  a  boy,  a  younger  son  of  a 
house  then  of  no  great  note.  He  wras  but  just  entering 
on  the  career  of  court  favour ;  and  none  but  the  most 
discerning  observers  could  as  yet  perceive  that  he  was 
likely  to  distance  all  his  competitors.  The  counte- 
nance and  advice  of  a  man  so  highly  distinguished  as 
the  Attorney-General  must  have  been  an  object  of  the 
highest  importance  to  the  young  adventurer.  But 
though  Villiers  was  the  obliged  party,  he  was  far  less 
warmly  attached  to  Bacon,  and  far  less  delicate  in  his 
conduct  towards  Bacon,  than  Essex  had  been. 

To  do  the  new  favourite  justice,  he  early  exerted  his 
influence  in  behalf  of  his  illustrious  friend.  In  161G, 
Sir  Francis  was  sworn  of  the  Privy  Council,  and  in 
March,  1617,  on  the  retirement  of  Lord  Brackley,  was 
appointed  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal. 

On  the  seventh  of  May,  the  first  day  of  term,  he 
rode  in  state  to  Westminster  Hall,  with  the  Lord  Treas- 
urer on  his  right  hand,  the  Lord  Privy  Seal  on  his  left, 
a  long  procession  of  students  and  ushers  before  him, 
and  a  crowd  of  peers,  pi'ivy-councillors,  and  judges  fol- 
lowing in  liis  train.  Having  entered  his  court,  he  ad- 
dressed the  splendid  auditory  in  a  grave  and  dignified 
speech,  which  proves  how  well  he  understood  those  ju- 
dicial duties  which  he  afterwards  performed  so  ill 


400  LORD  BACON 

Even  at  that  moment,  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life 
in  the  estimation  of  the  vulgar,  and,  it  may  be,  even  in 
his  own,  he  cast  back  a  look  of  lingering  affection  to- 
wards those  noble  pursuits  from  which,  as  it  seemed,  he 
was  about  to  be  estranged.  "  The  depth  of  the  three 
long  vacations,"  said  he,  "  I  would  reserve  in  some 
measure  free  from  business  of  estate,  and  for  studies, 
arts,  and  sciences,  to  which  of  my  own  nature  I  am 
most  inclined." 

The  years  during  which  Bacon  held  the  Great  Seal 
were  among  the  darkest  and  most  shameful  in  English 
history.  Every  thing  at  home  and  abroad  was  mis- 
managed. First  came  the  execution  of  Raleigh,  an  act 
which,  if  done  in  a  proper  manner,  might  have  been 
defensible,  but  which,  under  all  the  circumstances,  must 
be  considered  as  a  dastardly  murder.  Worse  was  be- 
hind, the  war  of  Bohemia,  the  successes  of  Tilly  and 
Spinola,  the  Palatinate  conquered,  the  King's  son-in-law 
an  exile,  the  house  of  Austria  dominant  on  the  Conti- 
nent, the  Protestant  religion  and  the  liberties  of  the 
Germanic  body  trodden  under  foot.  Meanwhile,  the 
wavering  and  cowardly  policy  of  England  furnished 
matter  of  ridicule  to  all  the  nations  of  Europe.  The 
love  of  peace  which  James  professed  would,  even  when 
indulged  to  an  impolitic  excess,  have  been  respectable, 
if  it  had  proceeded  from  tenderness  for  his  people.  But 
the  truth  is  that,  while  he  had  nothing  to  spare  for  the 
defence  of  the  natural  allies  of  England,  he  resorted 
without  scruple  to  the  most  illegal  and  oppressive  devi- 
ces, for  the  purpose  of  enabling  Buckingham  and 
Buckingham's  relations  to  outshine  the  ancient  aristoc- 
racy of  tlie  realm.  Benevolences  were  exacted.  Pat- 
ents of  monopoly  were  multiplied.  All  the  resources 
which  could  have  been  employed  to  replenish  a  beggared 


LORD  BACON.  401 

Exchequer,  at  the  close  of  a  ruinous  war,  were  put  in 
motion  during  this  season  of  ignominious  peace. 

The  vices  of  the  administration  must  be  chiefly  as- 
cribed to  the  weakness  of  the  King  and  to  the  levity 
and  violence  of  the  favourite.  But  it  is  impossible  to 
acquit  the  Lord  Keeper  of  all  share  in  the  guilt.  Foi 
those  odious  patents,  in  particular,  which  passed  the 
Great  Seal  while  it  was  in  his  charge,  he  must  be  held 
answerable.  In  the  speech  which  he  made  on  first 
taking  his  seat  in  his  court,  he  had  pledged  himself  to 
discharge  this  important  part  of  his  functions  with  the 
greatest  caution  and  impartiality.  He  had  declared 
that  he  "  would  walk  in  the  light,"  "  that  men  should 
see  that  no  particular  turn  or  end  led  him,  but  a  general 
rule."  Mr.  Montagu  would  have  us  believe  that  Ba- 
con acted  up  to  these  professions,  and  says  that  "  the 
power  of  the  favourite  did  not  deter  the  Lord  Keeper 
from  staying  grants  and  patents  when  his  public  duty 
demanded  this  interposition."  Does  Mr.  Montagu  con- 
sider patents  of  Monopoly  as  good  things  ?  Or  does  he 
mean  to  say  that  Bacon  staid  every  patent  of  monopoly 
that  came  before  him  ?  Of  all  patents  in  our  history, 
the  most  disgraceful  was  that  which  was  granted  to  Sir 
Giles  Mompesson,  supposed  to  be  the  original  of  Mas- 
singer's  Overreach,  and  to  Sir  Francis  Michell,  from 
whom  Justice  Greedy  is  supposed  to  have  been  drawn, 
for  the  exclusive  manufacturing  of  gold  and  silver  lace. 
The  effect  of  this  monopoly  was  of  course  that  the 
metal  employed  in  the  manufacture  was  adulterated  to 
the  great  loss  of  the  public.  But  this  was  a  trifle.  The 
patentees  were  armed  with  powers  as  great  as  have  ever 
been  given  to  farmers  of  the  revenue  in  the  worst  gov- 
erned countries.  They  were  authorised  to  search 
houses  and  to  arrest  interlopers ;  and  tnese  formidable 


102  LORD  BACON. 

powers  were  used  for  purposes  viler  than  even  those  for 
which  they  were  given,  for  the  wreaking  of  old  grudges, 
and  for  the  corrupting  of  female  chastity.  Was  not 
this  a  case  in  which  public  duty  demanded  the  interpo- 
sition of  the  Lord  Keeper  ?  And  did  the  Lord  Keeper 
interpose  ?  He  did.  He  wrote  to  inform  the  King, 
that  he  "  had  considered  of  the  fitness  and  convenicncy 
of  the  gold  and  silver  thread  business,"  "  that  it  was 
convenient  that  it  should  be  settled,"  that  he  "did 
conceive  apparent  likelihood  that  it  would  redound 
much  to  his  Majesty's  profit,"  that,  therefore,  "it  were 
good  it  were  settled  with  all  convenient  speed."  The 
meaning  of  all  this  was,  that  certain  of  the  house  of 
Villiers  were  to  go  shares  with  Overreach  and  Greedy 
in  the  plunder  of  the  public.  This  was  the  way  in 
which,  when  the  favourite  pressed  for  patents,  lucrative 
to  his  relations  and  to  his  creatures,  ruinous  and  vexa- 
tious to  the  body  of  the  people,  the  chief  guardian  of 
the  laws  interposed.  Having  assisted  the  patentees  to 
obtain  this  monopoly,  Bacon  assisted  them  also  in  the 
steps  which  they  took  for  the  purpose  of  guarding  it. 
He  committed  several  people  to  close  confinement  for 
disobeying  his  tyrannical  edict.  It  is  needless  to  say 
more.  Our  readers  are  now  able  to  judge  whether,  in 
the  matter  of  patents,  Bacon  acted  conformably  to  his 
professions,  or  deserved  the  praise  which  his  biographer 
has  bestowed  on  him. 

In  his  judicial  capacity  his  conduct  was  net  less 
reprehensible.  He  suffered  Buckingham  to  dictate 
many  of  his  decisions.  Bacon  knew  as  well  as  any 
man  that  a  judge  who  listens  to  private  solicitations 
is  a  disgrace  to  his  post.  He  had  himself,  before  ho 
was  raised  to  the  woolsack,  represented  this  strongly 
to  Villiers,  then  just  entering  on  his  career.  "  By  nc 


LORD  BACON.  403 

means,"  said  Sir  Francis,  in  a  letter  of  advice  addressed 
to  the  young  courtier,  "  by  no  means  be  yon  persuaded 
to  interpose  yourself,  either  by  word  or  letter,  in  any 
cause  depending  in  any  court  of  justice,  nor  suffer  any 
great  man  to  do  it  where  you  can  hinder  it.  If  h 
should  prevail,  it  perverts  justice ;  but,  if  the  judge 
be  so  just  and  of  such  courage  as  he  ought  to  be,  as 
not  to  be  inclined  thereby,  yet  it  always  leaves  a  taint 
of  suspicion  behind  it."  Yet  he  had  not  been  Lord 
Keeper  a  month  when  Buckingham  began  to  interfere 
in  Chancery  suits ;  and  Buckingham's  interference 
was,  as  might  have  been  expected,  successful. 

Mr.  Montagu's  reflections  on  the  excellent  passage 
which  we  have  quoted  above  are  exceedingly  amusing. 
"  No  man,"  says  he,  "  more  deeply  felt  the  evils  which 
then  existed  of  the  interference  of  the  Crown  and  of 
statesmen  to  influence  judges.  How  beautifully  did 
he  admonish  Buckingham,  regardless  as  he  proved  of 
all  admonition  !  "  We  should  be  glad  to  know  how  it 
can  be  expected  that  admonition  will  be  regarded  by 
him,  who  receives  it,  when  it  is  altogether  neglected 
by  him  who  gives  it.  We  do  not  defend  Buckingham : 

»/  O  C-> 

but  what  was  his  guilt  to  Bacon's  ?  Buckingham  was 
young,  ignorant,  thoughtless,  dizzy  with  the  rapi&ity 
of  his  ascent  and  the  height  of  his  position.  That  he 
ishould  be  eager  to  serve  his  relations,  his  flatterers, 
his  mistresses,  that  he  should  not  fully  apprehend  the 
immense  importance  of  a  pure  administration  of  jus- 
tice, that  he  should  think  more  about  those  who  were 
bound  to  him  by  private  ties  than  about  the  public 
interest,  all  this  was  perfectly  natural,  and  not  alto- 
gether unpardonable.  Those  who  intrust  a  petulant, 
not-blooded,  ill-informed  lad  with  power,  are  more  to 
olame  than  he  for  the  mischief  which  he  may  do  with 


104  LORD  BACON. 

it.  How  could  it  be  expected  of  a  lively  page,  raised 
by  a  wild  freak  of  fortune  to  the  first  influence  in  the 
empire,  that  he  should  have  bestowed  any  serious 
thought  on  the  principles  which  ought  to  guide  judi- 
cial decisions  ?  Bacon  was  the  ablest  public  man 
then  living  in  Europe.  He  was  near  sixty  years  old. 
He  had  thought  much,  and  to  good  purpose,  on  the 
general  principles  of  law.  He  had  for  many  years 
borne  a  part  daily  in  the  administration  of  justice. 
It  was  impossible  that  a  man  with  a  tithe  of  his  sagac- 
ity and  experience  should  not  have  known  that  a 
judge  who  suffers  friends  or  patrons  to  dictate  his 
decrees  violates  the  -plainest  rules  of  duty.  In  fact, 
as  we  have  seen?  he  knew  this  well :  he  expressed  it 
admirably.  Neither  on  this  occasion  nor  on  any 
other  could  his  bad  actions  be  attributed  to  any  defect 
of  the  head.  They  sprang  from  quite  a  different 
cause. 

A  man  who  stooped  to  render  such  services  to  others 
was  not  likely  to  be  scrupulous  as  to  the  means  by 
which  he  enriched  himself.  He  and  his  dependents  ac- 
cepted large  presents  from  persons  who  were  engaged  in 
Chancery  suits.  The-  amount  of  the  plunder  which  he 
collected  in  this  way  it  is  impossible  to  estimate.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  received  very  much  more  than 
was  proved  on  his  trial,  though,  it  may  be,  less  than 
was  suspected  by  the  public.  His  enemies  stated  his 
illicit  gains  at  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  But  this 
Iras  probably  an  exaggeration. 

It  was  long  before  the  day  of  reckoning  arrived. 
Darin 2  the  interval  between  the  second  and  third  Par- 

O 

liaments  of  James,  the  nation  was  absolutely  governed 
by  the  Crown.  The  prospects  of  the  Lord  Keeper 
were  bright  and  serene.  His  great  place  rendered  the 


LORD  BACON.  405 

splendcmr  t.f  his  talents  even  more  conspicuous,  and 
gave  an  additional  charm  to  the  serenity  of  his  temper, 
the  courtesy  of  his  manners,  and  the  eloquence  of  his 
Conversation.  The  pillaged  suitor  might  mutter.  The 
austere  Puritan  patriot  might,  in  Ms  retreat,  grieve  that 
one  on  whom  God  had  bestowed  without  measure  all 
the  abilities  which  qualify  men  to  take  the  lead  in  great 
reforms  should  be  found  among  the  adherents  of  the 
worst  abuses.  But  the  murmurs  of  the  suitor  and  the 
lamentations  of  the  patriot  had  scarcely  any  avenue  to 
the  ears  of  the  powerful.  The  King,  and  the  minister 
who  was  the  King's  master,  smiled  on  their  illustrious 
flatterer.  The  whole  crowd  of  courtiers  and  nobles 
sought  his  favour  witli  emulous  eagerness.  Men  of 
wit  and  learning  hailed  with  delight  the  elevation  of 
one  who  had  so  signally  shown  that  a  man  of  profound 
learning  and  of  brilliant  wit  might  understand,  far  bet- 
ter than  any  plodding  dunce,  the  art  of  thriving  in  the 
world. 

Once,  and  but  once,  this  course  of  prosperity  was 
kr  a  moment  interrupted.  It  should  seem  that  even 
Bacon's  brain  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear  without 
some  discomposure  the  inebriating  effect  of  so  much 
good  fortune.  For  some  time  after  his  elevation,  he 
Allowed  himself  a  little  wanting  in  that  wariness  and 
.4  elf-command  to  which,  more  than  even  to  his  tran- 
scendent talents,  his  elevation  was  to  be  ascribed.  He 
was  by  no  means  a  good  hater.  The  temperature  of 
his  revenge,  like  that  of  his  gratitude,  was  scarcely  ever 
more  than  lukewarm.  But  there  was  one  person  whom 
he  had  long  regarded  with  an  animosity  which,  though 
studiously  suppressed,  was  perhaps  the  stronger  for  the 
Suppression.  The  insults  and  injuries  which,  when  a 
man  struggling  into  note  and  professional  prac- 


100  LORD  BACON. 

tice,  lie  had  received  from  Sir  Edward  Coke,  were 
such  as  might  move  the  most  placable  nature  to  resent- 
ment. About  the  time  at  which  Bacon  received  the 
Seals,  Coke  had,  on  account  of  his  contumacious  resist- 
ance to  the  royal  pleasure,  been  deprived  of  his  scat  in 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  and  had  ever  since  lan- 
guished in  retirement.  But  Coke's  opposition  to  the 
Court,  we  fear,  was  the  effect  not  of  good  principles, 
but  of  a  bad  temper.  Perverse  and  testy  as  he  was,  he 
wanted  true  fortitude  and  dignity  of  character.  His 
obstinacy,  unsupported  by  virtuous  motives,  was  not 
proof  against  disgrace.  He  solicited  a  reconciliation 
with  the  favourite,  and  his  solicitations  were  successful. 
Sir  John  Villiers,  the  brother  of  Buckingham,  was 
looking  out  for  a  rich  wife.  Coke  had  a  large  fortune 
and  an  unmarried  daughter.  A  bargain  was  struck. 
But  Lady  Coke,  the  lady  whom  twenty  years  before 
Essex  had  wooed  on  behalf  of  Bacon,  would  not  hear 
of  the  match.  A  violent  and  scandalous  family  quar- 
rel followed.  The  mother  carried  the  girl  away  by 
stealth.  The  father  pursued  them  and  regained  pos- 
session of  his  daughter  by  force.  The  King  was  then 
in  Scotland,  and  Buckingham  had  attended  him  thither. 
Bacon  was,  during  their  absence,  at  the  head  of  affairs 
in  England.  He  felt  towards  Coke  as  much  malevo- 
lence as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  feel  towards  any  body. 
His  wisdom  had  been  laid  to  sleep  by  prosperity.  In 
an  evil  hour  he  determined  to  interfere  in  the  disputes 
which  agitated  his  enemy's  household.  He  declared 
I*<T  the  wife,  countenanced  the  Attorney-General  in 
filinc;  an  information  in  the  Star  Chamber  against  the 

C5  O 

husband,  and  wrote  letters  to  the  King  and  the  favour- 
ite against  the  proposed  marriage.  The  strong  Ian 
guage  which  he  used  in  those  letters  shows  that,  saga 


LORD  BACON.  401 

tious  as  he  was,  lie  did  not  quite  know  his  place,  and 
that  he  was  not  fully  acquainted  with  the  extent  either 
•of  Buckingham's  power,  or  of  the  change  which  the 
possession  of  that  power  had  produced  in  Bucking- 
ham's character.  He  soon  had  a  lesson  which  he 
never  forgot.  The  favourite  received  the  news  of  the 

O 

Lord  Keeper's  interference  with  feelings  of  the  most 
violent  resentment,  and  made  the  Kino-  even  more  an- 

7  O 

gry  than  himself.  Bacon's  eyes  were  at  once  opened 
to  his  error,  and  to  all  its  possible  consequences.  He 
had  been  elated,  if  not  intoxicated,  by  greatness.  The 
shock  sobered  him  in  an  instant.  He  was  all  himself 
again.  He  apologized  submissively  for  his  interference. 
He  directed  the  Attorney-General  to  stop  the  proceed- 
ings against  Coke.  He  sent  to  tell  Lady  Coke  that  he 
could  do  nothing  for  her.  He  announced  to  both  the 
families  that  he  was  desirous  to  promote  the  connec- 
tion. Having  given  these,  proofs  of  contrition,  he  ven- 
tured to  present  himself  before  Buckingham.  But  the 
young  upstart  did  not  think  that  he  had  yet  sufficiently 
humbled  an  old  man  who  had  been  his  friend  and  his 
benefactor,  who  was  the  highest  civil  functionary  in 
the  realm,  and  the  most  eminent  man  of  letters  in  the 
•world.  It  is  said  that  on  two  successive  days  Bacon 
repaired  to  Buckingham's  house,  that  on  two  succes- 
sive days  he  was  suffered  to  remain  in  an  antechamber 
among  foot-boys,  seated-  on  an  old  wooden  box,  with 
the  Great  Seal  of  England  at  his  side,  and  that  when 
It  length  he  was  admitted,  he  flung  himself  on  the 
Soor,  kissed  the  favourite's  feet,  and  vow.ed  never  to 
rise  till  he  was  forgiven.  Sir  Anthony  Weldon,  on 
whose  authority  this  story  rests,  is  likely  enough  to 
have  exaggerated  the  meanness  of  Bacon  and  the  inso- 
ence  of  Buckingham.  But  it  is  difficult  to  imagine 


408  LOUD  BACOX. 

that  so  circumstantial  a  narrative,  written  by  a  person 
who  avers  that  he  was  present  on  the  occasion,  caq 
be  wholly  without  foundation ;  and,  unhappily,  there 
is  little  in  the  character  either  of  the  favourite  or  of 
the  Lord  Keeper  to.  make  the  narrative  improbable. 
It  is  certain  that  a  reconciliation  took  place  on  tenna 
humiliating  to  Bacon,  who  never  more  ventured  to 
cross  any  purpose  of  any  body  who  bore  the  name  of 
Villicrs.  He  put  a  strong  curb  on  those  angry  pas- 
sions which  had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  mastered 
his  prudence.  He  went  through  the  forms  of  a  recon- 
ciliation with  Coke,  and  did  his  best,  by  seeking  oppor- 
tunities of  paying  little  civilities,  and  by  avoiding  all 
that  could  produce  collision,  to  tame  the  untameable 
ferocity  of  his  old  enemy. 

In  the  main,  howe^r,  Bacon's  life,  while  he  held 
the  Great  Seal,  was,  in  outward  appearance,  most  en 
viable.  In  London  he  lived  with  great  dignity  at  York 
House,  the  venerable  mansion  of  his  father.  Here  it 
was  that,  in  January,  1620,  he  celebrated  his  entrance 
into  his  sixtieth  year  amidst  a  splendid  circle  of  friends. 
He  had  then  exchanged  the  appellation  of  Keeper  for 
the  higher  title  of  Chancellor.  Ben  Jonson  was  one 
of  the  party,  and  wrote  on  the  occasion  some  of  the 
.lappiest  of  his  rugged  rhymes.  All  things,  he  tells 
us,  seemed  to  smile  about  the  old  house,  "  the  fire,  the 
wine,  the  men."  The  spectacle  of  the  accomplished 
host,  after  a  life  marked  by  no  great  disaster,  entering 
on  a  green  old  age,  in  the  enjoyment  of  riches,  power, 
high  honours,  undiminished  mental  activity,  and  vast 
literary  reputation,  made  a  strong  impression  on  the 
poet,  if  we  may  judge  from  those  well-known  lines  ; 

"  England's  high  Chancellor,  the  destined  heir, 
In  his  soft  cradle,  to  his  father's  chair." 


LORD  BACON.  409 

Whose  even  thread  the  Fates  spin  round  and  full 
Out  of  their  choicest  and  their  whitest  wool." 

In  the  intervals  of  rest  which  Bacon's  political  and 
judicial  functions  afforded,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  re- 
tiring to  Gorliambury.  At  that  place  his  business 
was  literature,  and  his  favourite  amusement  gardening, 
which  in  one  of  his  most  interesting  Essays  he  calls 

•/ 

"  the  purest  of  human  pleasures."  In  his  magnificent 
grounds,  he  erected,  at  a  cost  of  ten  thousand  pounds, 
a  retreat  to  which  he  repaired  when  he  wished  to  avoid 
all  visitors,  and  to  devote  himself  wholly  to  study.  On 
such  occasions,  a  few  young  men  of  distinguished  tal- 
ents were  sometimes  the  companions  of  his  retirement ; 
and  among  them  his  quick  eye  soon  discerned  the  su- 
perior abilities  of  Thomas  Hobbes.  It  is  not  probable 
however,  that  he  fully  appreciated  the  powers  of  his 
disciple,  or  foresaw  the  vast  influence,  both  for  good 
and  for  evil,  which  that  most  vigorous  and  acute  of 
human  intellects  was  destined  to  exercise  on  the  two 
succeeding  generations. 

In  January,  1G21,  Bacon  had  reached  the  zenith  of 
his  fortunes.  He  had  just  published  the  Novum  Or- 
yanum  ;  and  that  extraordinary  book  had  drawn  forth 
the  warmest  expressions  of  admiration  from  the  ablest 
men  in  Europe.  He  had  obtained  honours  of  a  widely 
different  kind,  but  perhaps  not  less  valued  by  him.  He 
had  been  created  Baron  Verulam.  He  had  subse- 
quently been  raised  to  the  higher  dignity  of  Viscount 
St.  Albans.  His  patent  was  drawn  in  the  most  Hattei- 
ng  terms,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  signed  it  as  a  wit- 
ness. The  ceremony  of  investiture  was  performed 
with  great  state  at  Theobalds,  and  Buckingham  con- 
iescended  to  be  one  of  the  chief  actors.  Posterity  has 
telt  that  the  greatest  of  English  philosophers  could  de- 
VOL.  in.  18 


110  LORD  BACON. 

rive  no  accession  of  dignity  from  any  title  which  James 
could  bestow,  and,  in  defiance  of  the  royal  letters 
patent,  has  obstinately  refused  to  degrade  Francis  Bacon 
into  Viscount  St.  Albans. 

In  a  few  weeks  was  signally  brought  to  the  test  the 
value  of  those  objects  for  which  Bacon  had  sullied  k's 
integrity,  had  resigned  his  independence,  had  violated 
the  most  sacred  obligations  of  friendship  and  gratitude, 
had  flattered  the  worthless,  had  persecuted  the  innocent, 
had  tampered  with  judges,  had  tortured  prisoners,  had 
plundered  suitors,  had  wasted  on  paltry  intrigues,  all 
the  powers  of  the  most  exquisitely  constructed  intellect 
that  has  ever  btsn  bestowed  on  any  of  the  children  of 
men.  A  sudden  and  terrible  reverse  Avas  at  hand.  A 
Parliament  had  been  summoned.  After  six  years  of 
silence  the  voice  of  the  nation  was  again  to  be  heard. 
Only  three  days  after  the  pageant  which  was  performed 
at  Theobalds  in  honour  of  Bacon,  the  Houses  met. 

Want  of  money  had,  as  usual,  induced  the  King  to 
convoke  his  Parliament.  It  may  be  doubted,  however, 
whether,  if  he  or  his  ministers  had  been  at  all  aware 
of  the  state  of  public  feeling,  they  would  not  have  tried 
any  expedient,  or  borne  with  any  inconvenience,  rather 
than  have  ventured  to  face  the  deputies  of  a  justly  ex- 
asperated nation.  But  they  did  not  discern  those  times. 
Indeed  almost  all  the  political  blunders  of  James,  and 
of  his  more  unfortunate  son,  arose  from  one  great  error 
During  the  fifty  years  which  preceded  the  Long  Par- 
liament, a  great  and  progressive  change  was  taking 
place  in  the  public  mind.  The  nature  and  extent  of 
this  change  was  not  in  the  least  understood  by  eithe! 
of  the  first  two  Kings  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  or  by 
any  of  their  advisers.  That  the  nation  became  more 
and  more  discontented  every  year,  that  every  House  of 


LORD  BACON.  411 

Commons  was  more  unmanageable  than    that  which 

o 

had  preceded  it,  were  facts  which  it  was  impossible  not 
to  perceive.  But  the  Court  could  not  understand  why 
these  things  were  so.  The  Court  could  not  see  that 
the  English  people  and  the  English  Government, 
though  they  might  once  have  been  well  suited  to  each 
other,  were  suited  to  each  other  no  longer ;  that  the 
nation  had  outgrown  its  old  institutions,  was  every  day 
more  uneasy  under  them,  -was  pressing  against  them, 
and  would  soon  burst  through  them.  The  alarming 
phenomena,-  the  existence  of  which  no  sycophant  could 
deny,  were  ascribed  to  every  cause  except  the  true  one. 
"  In  my  first  Parliament,"  said  James,  "  I  was  a  novice. 
In  my  next,  there  was  a  kind  of  beasts  called  under- 
takers," and  so  forth.  In  the  third  Parliament  he 
could  hardly  be  called  a  novice,  and  those  beasts,  the  un- 
dertakers, did  not  exist.  Yet  his  third  Parliament  gave 
him  more  trouble  than  either  the  first  or  the  second. 

The  Parliament  had  no  sooner  met  than  the  House 
of  Commons  proceeded,  in  a  temperate  and  respectful, 
but  most  determined  manner,  to  discuss  the  public 
grievances.  Their  first  attacks  were  directed  against 
those  odious  patents,  under  cover  of  which  Bucking- 
ham and  his  creatures  had  pillaged  and  oppressed  the 
nation.  The  vigour  with  which  these  proceedings 
were  conducted  spread  dismay  through  the  Court. 
Buckingham  thought  himself  in  danger,  and,  in  his 
alarm,  had  recourse  to  an  adviser  who  had  lately  ac- 
quired considerable  influence  over  him,  Williams,  Dean 
of  Westminster.  This  person  had  already  been  of 
threat  use  to  the  favourite  in  a  very  delicate  matter.. 
Buckingham  had  set  his  heart  on  marrying  Lady  Cath- 
erine Manners,  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  Earl  of 
Rutland.  But  the  difficulties  were  ereat.  The  Ear. 


i!2  LORD  BACON. 

was  haughty  and  impracticable,  and  the  young  iad\ 
was  a  Catholic.  Williams  soothed  the  pride  of  the 
father,  and  found  arguments  which,  for  a  time  at  least, 
quieted  the  conscience  of  the  daughter.  For  these 
services  he  had  been  rewarded  with  considerable  pro- 
ferment  in  the  Church  ;  and  he  was  now  rapidly  rising 
to  the  same  place  in  the  regard  of  Buckingham  \vliich 
had  formerly  been  occupied  by  Bacon. 

Williams  was  one  of  those  who  are  wiser  for  others 
than  for  themselves.  His  own  public  life  was  unfortu- 
nate, and  was  made  unfortunate  by  his  strange  want 
of  judgment  and  self-command  at  several  important 
conjunctures.  But  the  counsel  which  he  gave  on  this 
occasion  showed  no  want  of  worldly  wisdom.  He  ad- 
vised the  favourite  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of  defend- 
ing the  monopolies,  to  find  some  foreign  embassy  for 
his  brother  Sir  Edward,  who  was  deeply  implicated  in 
the  villanies  of  Mompesson,  and  to  leave  the  other 
offenders  to  the  justice  of  Parliament.  Buckingham 
received  this  advice  with  the  warmest  expressions  of 
gratitude,  and  declared  that  a  load  had  been  lifted  from 
his  heart.  He  then  repaired  with  Williams  to  the 
royal  presence.  They  found  the  King  engaged  in 
earnest  consultation  with  Prince  Charles.  The  plan 
of  operations  proposed  by  the  Dean  was  fully  dis- 
cussed, and  approved  in  all  its  parts. 

The  first  victims  whom  the  Court  abandoned  to  the 
vengeance  of  the  Commons  were  Sir  Giles  Mompesson 
and  Sir  Francis  Michell.  It  was  some  time  before 
Bacon  began  to  entertain  any  apprehensions.  His 
talents  and  his  address  gave  him  great  influence  in 

O  O 

the  house  of  which  he  had  lately  become  a  member,  as 
indeed  they  must  have  in  any  assembly.  In  the  House 
vf  Commons  he  had  many  personal  friends  and  many 


LORD  BACON.  413 

warm  admirers.     But  at  length,  about  six  weeks  aftef 
the  meeting  of  Parliament,  the  storm  burst. 

A  committee  of  the  lower  House  had  been  ap- 
pointed to  inquire  into  the  state  of  the  Courts  of 
Justice.  On  the  fifteenth  of  March  the  chairman 
of  that  committee,  Sir  Robert  Philips,  member  for 
Bath,  reported  that  great  abuses  had  been  discovered. 
"  The  person,"  said  he,  "  against  whom  these  things 
are  alleged  is  no  less  than  the  Lord  Chancellor,  a  man 
so  endued  with  all  parts,  both  of  nature  and  art,  as 
that  I  will  say  no  more  of  him,  being  not  able  to  say 
enough."  Sir  Robert  then  proceeded  to  state,  in  the 
most  temperate  manner,  the  nature  of  the  charges, 
A  person  of  the  name  of  Aubrey  had  a  case  depending 
in  Chancery.  He  had  been  almost  ruined  by  law- 
expenses,  and  his  patience  had  been  exhausted  by  the 
delays  of  the  court.  He  received  a  hint  from  some 
of  the  hangers-on  of  the  Chancellor  that  a  present  of 
one  hundred  pounds  would  expedite  matters.  The 
poor  man  had  not  the  sum  required.  However, 
having  found  out  an  usurer  who  accommodated  him 
with  it  at  high  interest,  he  carried  it  to  York  House. 
The  Chancellor  took  the  money,  and  his  dependents 
assured  the  suitor  that  all  would  go  .right.  Aubrey 
was,  however,  disappointed ;  for,  after  considerable 
delay,  "  a  killing  decree "  was  pronounced  against 
him.  Another  suitor  of  the  name  of  Egerton  com- 
plained that  he  had  been  induced  by  two  of  the 
Chancellor's  jackals  to  make  his  Lordship  a  prese.it 
of  four  hundred  pounds,  and  that,  nevertheless,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  obtain  a  decree  in  his  favour. 
The  evidence  to  these  facts  was  overwhelming.  Ba« 
.  ton's  friends  could  only  entreat  the  House  to  suspend 
ts  judgment,  and  to  send  up  the  case  to  the  Lords,  in 
*.  form  less  offensive  than  an  impeachment. 


t!4  LORD  BACON. 

On  the  nineteenth  of  March  the  King  sent  a  mes- 
nage  to  the  Commons,  expressing  his  deep  regret  thai 
BO  eminent  a  person  as  the  Chancellor  should  be  sus- 
pected of  misconduct.  His  Majesty  declared  that  he 
had  no  wish  to  screen  the  guilty  from  justice,  and 
proposed  to  appoint  a  new  kind  of  tribunal,  consisting 
of  eighteen  commissioners,  who  might  be  chosen  from 
among  the  members  of  the  two  Houses,  to  investigate 
the  matter.  The  Commons  were  not  disposed  to  de- 
part from  their  regular  course  of  proceeding.  On  the 
same  day  they  held  a  conference  with  the  Lords,  ami 
delivered  in  the  heads  of  the  accusation  against  the 
Chancellor.  At  this  conference  Bacon  was  not  pres- 
ent. Overwhelmed  with  shame  and  remorse,  and 
abandoned  by  all  those  in  whom  he  had  weakly  put 
his  trust,  he  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  chamber  from 
the  eyes  of  men.  The  dejection  of  his  mind  soon  dis- 
ordered his  body.  Buckingham,  who  visited  him  by 
the  King's  order,  "  found  liis  Lordship  very  sick  and 
heavy."  It  appears  from  a  pathetic  letter  which  the 
unhappy  man  addressed  to  the  Peers  on  the  day  of 
the  conference,  that  he  neither  expected  nor  wished 
to  survive  his  disgrace.  During  several  days  he  re- 
mained in  his  bed,  refusing  to  see  any  human  being. 
He  passionately  told  his  attendants  to  leave  him,  to 
forget  him,  never  again  to  name  his  name,  never 
to  remember  that  there  had  been  such  a  man  in  the 
world.  In  the  mean  time,  fresh  instances  of  corrup- 
tion were  every  day  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
accusers.  The  number  of  charges  rapidly  increased 
from  two  to  twenty-three.  The  Lords  entered  on  the 
investigation  of  the  case  with  laudable  alacrity.  Some 
witnesses  were  examined  at  the  bar  of  "the  House.  A 
lelect  committee  was  appointed  to  take  the  depositions 


LORD  BACON.  415 

of  others ;  and  the  inquiry  was  rapidly  proceeding, 
when,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  March,  the  King  ad- 
journed the  Parliament  for  three  weeks. 

This  measure  revived  Bacon's  hopes.  He  made 
the  most  of  his  short  respite.  He  attempted  to  work 
on  the  feeble  mind  of  the  King.  He  appealed  to  all 
the  strongest  feelings  of  James,  to  his  fears,  to  his 
vanity,  to  his  high  notions  of  prerogative.  Would 
the  Solomon  of  the  age  commit  so  gross  an  error  as 
to  encourage  the  encroaching  spirit  of  Parliaments? 
Would  God's  anointed,  accountable  to  God  alone,  pay 
homage  to  the  clamorous  multitude  ?  "  Those,"  ex- 
claimed Bacon,  "  who  now  strike  at  the  Chancellor 
will  soon  strike  at  the  Crown.  I  am  the  first  sacri- 
fice. I  wish  I  may  be  the  last."  But  all  his  elo- 
quence and  address  were  employed  in  vain.  Indeed, 
whatever  Mr.  Montagu  may  say,  we  are  firmly  con- 
vinced that  it  was  not  in  the  King's  power  to  save 
Bacon,  without  having  recourse  to  measures  which 
would  have  convulsed  the  realm.  The  Crown  had  not 
sufficient  influence  over  the  Parliament  to  procure  an 
acquittal  in  so  clear  a  case  of  guilt.  And  to  dissolve  a 
Parliament  which  is  universally  allowed  to  have  been 
one  of  the  best  Parliaments  that  ever  sat,  wliich  had 
acted  liberally  and  respectfully  towards  the  Sovereign, 
and  which  enjoyed  in  the  highest  degree  the  favour  of 
the  people,  only  in  "order  to  stop  a  grave,  temperate, 
and  constitutional  inquiry  into  the  personal  integrity  of 
the  first  judge  in  the  kingdom,  would  have  been  a 
measure  inore  scandalous  and  absurd  than  any  of  those 
which  were  the  ruin  of  the  House  of  Stuart.  Such  a 
measure,  while  it  would  have  been  as  fatal  to  the 
Chancellor's  honour  as  a  conviction,  would  have  en- 
iangered  the  very  existence  of  the  monarchy.  The 


110  LORD  BACON. 

King,  acting  by  the  advice  of  Williams,  very  properly 
refused  to  engage  in  a  dangerous  struggle  with  his 

o    o  o  ~o 

people,  for  the  purpose  of  saving  from  legal  condemna- 
tion a  minister  whom  it  was  impossible  to  save  from 
dishonour.  He  advised  Bacon  to  plead  guilty,  and 
promised  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  mitigate  the  punish- 
ment. Mr.  Montagu  is  exceedingly  angry  with  Jamca 
on  this  account.  But  though  we  are,  in. general,  very 
little  inclined  to  admire  that  Prince's  conduct,  we  really 
think  that  his  advice  was,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
the  best  advice  that  could  have  been  given. 

On  the  seventeenth  of  April  the  Houses  reassembled, 
and  the  Lords  resumed  their  inquiries  into  the  abuses 
of  the  Court  of  Chancery.  On  the  twenty-second, 
Bacon  addressed  to  the  Peers  a  letter,  which  the 
Prince  of  Wales  condescended  to  deliver.  In  this 
artful  and  pathetic  composition,  the  Chancellor  ac- 
knowledged his  guilt  in  guarded  and  general  terms, 
and,  while  acknowledging,  endeavoured  to  palliate  it. 
This,  however,  was  not  thought  sufficient  by  his 
judges.  They  required  a  more  particular  confession, 
and  sent  him  a  copy  of  the  charges.  On  the  thirtieth, 
he  delivered  a  paper  in  which  he  admitted,  with  few 
and  unimportant  reservations,  the  truth  of  the  accusa- 
tions brought  against  him,  and  threw  himself  entirely 
on  the  mercy  of  his  peers.  "  Upon  advised  considera- 
tion of  the  charges,"  said  he,  "  descending  into  my 
own  conscience,  and  calling  my  memory  to  account  so 
far  as  I  am  able,  I  do  plainly  and  ingenuously  confess 
that  I  am  guilty  of  corruption,  and  do  renounce  all 
defence." 

The  Loids  came  to  a  resolution  that  the  Chancel- 
lor's confession  appeared  to  be  full  and  ingenuous,  and 
<&ent  a  committee  to  inquire  of  him  whether  it  was 


LORD   BACON.  417 

really  subscribed  by  himself.  The  deputies,  among 
whom  was  Southampton,  the  common  friend,  many 
years  before,  of  Bacon  and  Essex,  performed  their  duty 
with  great  delicacy.  Indeed  the  agonies  of  such  a 
mind  and  the  degradation  of  such  a  name  might  well 
have  softened  the  most  obdurate  natures.  "  My  Lords," 
said  Bacon,  "  it  is  my  act,  my  hand,  my  heart.  I  be- 
seech your  Lordships  to  be  merciful  to  a  broken  reed.l! 
They  withdrew ;  and  he  again  retired  to  his  chamber 
in  the  deepest  dejection.  The  next  day,  the  sergeant- 
at-arms  and  the  usher  of  the  House  of  Lords  came  to 
conduct  him  to  Westminster  Hall,  where  sentence  was 
to  be  pronounced.  But  they  found  him  so  unwell  that 
he  could  not  leave  his  bed  ;  and  this  excuse  for  his  ab- 
sence was  readily  accepted.  In  no  quarter  does  there 
appear  to  have  been  the  smallest  desire  to  add  to  his 
humiliation. 

The  sentence  was,  however,  severe,  the  more  severe, 
no  doubt,  because  the  Lords  knew  that  it  would  not  be 
executed,  and  that  they  had  an  excellent  opportunity  of 
exhibiting,  at  small  cost,  the  inflexibility  of  their  jus- 
tice, and  their  abhorrence  of  corruption.  Bacon  was 
condemned  to  pay  a  fine  of  forty  thousand  pounds,  and 
to  be  imprisoned  in  the  Tower  during  the  King's  pleas- 
ure. He  was  declared  incapable  of  holding  any  office 
in  the  State  or  of  sitting  in  Parliament ;  and  he  was 
banished  for  life  from  the  verge  of  the  court.  In  such 
misery  and  shame  ended  that  long  career  of  worldly 
wisdom  and  worldly  prosperity. 

Even  at  this  pass  Mr.  Montagu  does  not  desert  his 
*iero.  He  seems  indejgd  to  think  that  the  attachment 
of  an  editor  ouMit  to  be  as  devoted  as  t\iat  nf  Mr. 

o 

Moore's  lovers ;  and  cannot  conceive  what 
tfas  made  for, 


418  LORD  BACON. 

"  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Through  joy  and  through  torment,  through  glory  and  shame.' 

He  assures  us  that  Bacon  Avas  innocent,  that  lie  had 
the  means  of  making  a  perfectly  satisfactory  defence, 
that  when  he  "plainly  and  ingenuously  confessed  that 
lie  was  guilty  of  corruption,"  and  when  he  after  \varda 
solemnly  affirmed  that  his  confession  was  "his  act,  his 
hand,  his  heart,"  he  was  telling  a  great  lie,  and  that  he 
refrained  from  bringing  forward  proofs  of  his  innocence, 
because  he  durst  not  disobey  the  King  and  the  favour- 
ite, who,  for  his  own  selfish  objects,  pressed  him  to 
plead  guilty. 

Now,  in  the  first  place,  there  is  not  the  smallest  rea- 
son to  believe  that,  if  James  and  Buckingham  had 
thought  that  Bacon  had  a  good  defence,  they  would 
have  prevented  him  from  making  it.  What  conceiva- 
ble motive  had  they  for  do'ing  so  ?  Mr.  Montagu  per- 
petually repeats  that  it  was  their  interest  to  sacrifice 
Bacon.  But  he  overlooks  an  obvious  distinction.  It 
was  their  interest  to  sacrifice  Bacon  on  the  supposition 
of  his  guilt ;  but  not  on  the  supposition  of  his  innocence. 
James  was  very  properly  unwilling  to  run  the  risk  of 
protecting  his  Chancellor  against  the  Parliament.  But 
if  the  Chancellor  had  been  able,  by  force  of  argument, 
to  obtain  an  acquittal  from  the  Parliament,  we  have  no 
doubt  that  both  the  King  and  Villiers  would  have 
heartily  rejoiced.  They  would  have  rejoiced,  not  merely 
on  account  of  their  friendship  for  Bacon,  which  seemr,, 
however,  to  have  been  as  sincere  as  most  friendships  of 
that  sort,  but  on  selfish  grounds.  Nothing  could  have 
Strengthened  the  government  more  than  such  a  victory. 
The  King  and  the  favourite  abandoned  the  Chancellor 
because  they  were  unable  to  avert  his  disgrace,  and 
unwilling  to  share  it.  Mr.  Montagu  mistakes  effect  for 


LORD  BACON. 

cause.  He  tl links  that  Bacon  did 'not  prove  his  inno- 
cence, because  he  was  not  supported  by  the  Court. 
The  truth  evidently  is  that  the  Court  did  not  venture 
to  support  Bacon,  because  he  could  not  prove  his  inno- 
cence. 

Again,  it  seems  strange  that  Mr.  Montagu  should 
not  perceive  tlnit,  while  attempting  to  vindicate  Bacon's 
reputation,  he  is  really  casting  on  it  the  foulest  of  all 
aspersions.  He  imputes  to  his  idol  a  degree  of  mean- 
ness and  depravity  more  loathsome  than  judicial  cor- 
ruption itself.  A  corrupt  judge  may  have  many  good 
qualities.  But  a  man  who,  to  please  a  powerful  pat- 
ron, solemnly  declares  himself  guilty  of  corruption  wnen 
,ie  knows  himself  to  be  innocent,  must  be  a  monster  of 
servility  and  impudence.  Bacon  was,  to  say  nothing 
of  his  highest  claims  to  respect,  a  gentleman,  a  noble- 
man, a  scholar,  a  statesman,  a  man  of  the  first  consid- 
eration in  society,  a  man  far  advanced  in  years.  Is  it 
possible  to  believe  that  such  a  man  would,  to  gratify 
any  human  being,  irreparably  ruin  his  own  character 
by  his  own  act  ?  Imagine  a  grey-headed  judge,  full 
of  years  and  honours,  owning  with  tears,  with  pathetic 
assurances  of  his  penitence  and  of  his  sincerity,  that  he 
has  been  guilty  of  shameful  mal-practices,  repeatedly 
asseverating  the  truth  of  his  confession,  subscribing  it 
\vitli  his  own  hand,  submitting  to  conviction,  receiving 
a  humiliating  sentence  and  acknowledging  its  justice, 
and  all  this  when  he  has  it  in  his  power  to  show  that 
his  conduct  has  been  irreproachable  !  The  thing  is  in- 
credible. But  if  we  admit  it  to  be  true,  what  must  we 
think  of  such  a  man,  if  indeed  he  deserves  the  name  of 
man,  who  thinks  any  thing  that  kings  and  minions  can 
bestow  more  precious  than  honour,  or  any  thing  that 
they  can  inflict  more  terrible  than  infamy  ? 


420  LORD  BACON. 

Of  this  most  disgraceful  imputation  we  fully  acquit 
Bacon.  He  had  no  defence ;  and  Mr.  Montagu's 
affectionate  attempt  to  make  a  defence  for  him  has  alto- 
gether failed. 

The  grounds  on  which  Mr.  Montagu  rests  the  case 
are  two ;  tire  first,  that  the  taking  of  presents  was  usual, 
and,  what  he  seems  to  consider  as  the  same  thing,  not 
discreditable  ;  the  second,  that  these  presents  were  not 
taken  as  bribes. 

Mr.  Montagu  brings  forward  many  facts  in  support 
of  his  first  proposition.  He  is  not  content  with  showing 
that  many  English  judges  formerly  received  gifts  from 
suitors,  but  collects  similar  in  stances  from  foreign  nations 
and  ancient  times.  He  goes  back  to  the  common- 
wealths of  Greece,  and  attempts  to  press  into  his  ser- 
vice a  line  of  Homer  and  a  sentence  of  Plutarch,  which, 
we  fear,  will  hardly  serve  his  turn.  The  gold  of  which 
Homer  speaks  was  not  intended  to  fee  the  judges,  but 
was  paid  into  court  for  the  benefit  of  the  successful 
litigant ;  and  the  gratuities  which  Pericles,  as  Plutarch 
states,  distributed  among  the  members  of  the  Athenian 
tribunals,  were  legal  wages  paid  out  of  the  public  rev- 
enue. We  can  supply  Mr.  Montagu  with  passages 
much  more  in  point.  Hesiod,  who  like  poor  Aubrey, 
had  a  "  killing  decree  "  made  against  him  in  the  Chan- 
cery of  Ascra,  forgot  decorum  so  far  that  he  ventured 
to  designate  the  learned  persons  who  presided  in  that 
court,  as  (3«<7t?.//a£  dojoocpriyovy.  Plutarch  and  Diodorus 
have  handed  down  to  the  latest  ages  the  respectable 
name  of  Anytus,  the  son  of  Anthemion,  the  first  de- 
fendant who,  eluding  all  the  safeguards  which  the  inge- 
nuity ot  Solon  could  devise,  succeeded  in  corrupting  a 
bench  of  Athenian  judges.  We  are  indeed  so  far  from 
grudging  Mr.  Montagu  the  aid  of  Greece,  that  we  wU< 


LORD  BACOtf.  421 

give  him  Rome  into  the  bargain.  We  acknowledge 
that  the  honourable  senators  who  tried  Verres  received 
presents  which  were  worth  more  than  the  fee-simple  of 
York  House  and  Gorhambury  together,  and  that  the 
no  less  honorable  senators  and  knights  who  professed  to 
believe  in  the  alibi  of  Clodius  obtained  marks  still  more 
extraordinary  of  the  esteem  and  gratitude  of  the 
defendant.  In  short,  we  are  ready  to  admit  that,  before 
Bacon's  time,  and  in  Bacon's  time,  judges  were  in  the 
habit  of  receiving  gifts  from  suitors. 

But  is  this  a  defence  ?  We  think  not.  The  rob- 
beries of  Cacus  and  Barabbas  are  no  apology  for  those 
of  Turpin.  The  conduct  of  the  two  men  of  Belial  who 
swore  away  the  life  of  Naboth  has  never  been  cited  as 
an  excuse  for  the  perjuries  of  Gates  and  Dangerh'eld. 
Mr.  Montagu  has  confounded  two  things  which  it  is 
necessary  carefully  to  distinguish  from  each  other,  if 
we  wish  to  form  a  correct  judgment  of  the  characters 
of  men  of  other  countries  and  other  times.  That  an 
immoral  action  is,  in  a  particular  society,  generally 
considered  as  innocent,  is  a  good  plea  for  an  individual 
who,  being  one  of  that  society,  and  having  adopted  the 
notions  which  prevail  among  his  neighbors,  commits 
that  action.  But  the  circumstance  that  a  great  many 
people  are  in  the  habit  of  committing  immoral  actions 
is  no  plea  at  all.  We  should  think  it  unjust  to  call 
St.  Louis  a  wicked  man,  because  in  an  acre  in  which 

&    . 

toleration  was  generally  regarded  as  a  sin,  he  perse- 
cuted heretics.  We  should  think  it  unjust  to  call 
Cowper's  friend,  John  Newton,  a  hypocrite  and  mon- 
ster, because  at  a  time  when  the  slave-trade  was  com- 
monly considered  by  the  most  respectable  people  as 
an  innocent  and  beneficial  traffic,  he  went,  largely  pro- 
vided with  hymn-books  and  handcuffs  on  a  Guinea 


422  LORD  BACON. 

voyage.  But  the  circumstance  that  there  are  twenty 
thousand  thieves  in  London,  is  no  excuse  for  a  fellow 
who  is  caught  breaking  into  a  shop.  No  man  is  to  ba 
blamed  for  not  making  discoveries  in  morality,  for 
not  finding  out  that  something  which  everybody  else 
thinks  to  be  good  is  really  bad.  But,  if  a  man  does 
that  which  he  and  all  around  him  know  to  be  bad,  it 
is  no  excuse  for  him  that  many  others  have  done  the 
same.  We  should  be  ashamed  of  spending  so  much 
time  in  pointing  out  so  clear  a  distinction,  but  that  Mr. 
Montagu  seems  altogether  to  overlook  it.  . 

Now  to  apply  these  principles  to  the  case  before  us ; 
let  Mr.  Montagu  prove  that,  in  Bacon's  age,  the  prac- 
tices for  which  Bacon  was  punished  were  generally 
considered  as  innocent ;  and  we  admit  that  he  has  made 
out  his  point.  But  this  we  defy  him  to  do.  That 
these  practices  were  common  we  admit.  But  they 
were  common  just  as  all  wickedness  to  which  there  is 
strong  temptation  always  wras  and  always  will  be  com- 
mon. They  were  common  just  as  theft,  cheating,  per- 
jury, adultery  have  always  been  common.  They  were 
common,  not  because  ^people  did  not  know  what  was 
right,  but  because  people  liked  to  do  what  was  wrong. 
They  were  common,  though  prohibited  by  law.  They 
were  common,  though  condemned  by  public  opinion. 
They  were  common,  because  in  that  age  law  and  pub- 
lic opinion  united  had  not  sufficient  force  to  restrain 
the  greediness  of  powerful  and  unprincipled  magis- 
trates. They  were  common,  as  every  crime  will  be 
common  when  the  gain  to  which  it  leads  is  great,  and 
the  chance  of  punishment  small.  But,  though  com- 
mon, they  were  universally  allowed  to  be  altogether 
unjustifiable  ;  they  were  in  the  highest  degree  odious  • 
and,  though  many  were  guilty  of  them,  none  had  the 
audacity  publicly  to  avow  and  defend  them. 


LORD  BACON.  423 

We  could  give  a  thousand  proofs  that  the  opinion 
then  entertained  concerning  these  practices  was  such 
as  we  have  described.  But  we  will  content  ourselves 
with  calling  a  single ,  witness,  honest  Hugh  Latimer. 
Kis  sermons,  preached  more  than  seventy  years  before 
the  inquiry  into  Bacon's  conduct,  abound  with  the 
sharpest  invectives  against  those  very  practices  of 
which  Bacon  was  guilty,  and  which,  as  Mr.  Montagu 
seems  to  think,  nobody  ever  considered  as  blamable  till 
Bacon  was  punished  for  them.  We  could  easily  fill 
twenty  pages  with  the  homely,  but  just  and  forcible 
rhetoric  of  the  brave  old  bishop.  We  shall  select  a 
few  passages  as  fair  specimens,  and  no  more  than  fair 
specimens  of  the  rest.  "  0 nines  diligunt  munera.  They 
all  love  bribes.  Bribery  is  a  princely  kind  of  thieving. 
They  will  be  waged  by  the  rich,  either  to  give  sentence 
against  the  poor,  or  to  put  oif  the  poor  man's  cause. 
This  is  the  noble  theft  of  princes  and  magistrates. 
They  are  bribe-takers.  Nowadays  they  call  them  gen- 
tle rewards.  Let  them  leave  their  colouring,  and  call 
them  by  their  Christian  name  —  bribes."  And  again  , 
"  Cambyses  Avas  a  great  emperor,  such  another  as  our 
master  is.  He  had  many  lord  deputies,  lord  presidents, 
and  lieutenants  under  him.  It  is  a  great  while  age 
since  I  read  the  history.  It  chanced  he  had  under  him 
in  one  of  his  dominions  a  briber,  a  gift-taker,  a  gratifiei 
of  rich  men  ;  he  followed  gifts  as  fast  as  he  that  fol- 
lowed the  pudding,  a  handmaker  in  his  office  to  make 
his  son  a  great  man,  as  the  old  saying  is  :  Happy  is  the 
child  whose  father  goeth  to  the  devil.  The  cry  of  the 
poor  widow  came  to  the  emperor's  ear,  and  caused  him 
to  flay  the  judge  quick,  and  laid  his  skin  in  the  chair 
of  judgment,  that  all  judges  that  should  give  judgment 
ifterward  should  sit  in  the  same  skin.  Surely  it  was 


421  LORD  BACON. 

a  goodly  sign,  a  goodly  monument,  the  sign  of  the 
judge's  skin.  I  pray  God  we  may  once  sec  the  skin 
in  England."  "  I  am  sure,"  says  lie  in  another  ser- 
mon, "  this  is  scala  inferni,  the  right  way  to  hell,  to 
be  covetous,  to  take  bribes,  and  pervert  justice.  If  a 
judge  should  ask  me  the  way  to  hell,  I  would  show 
him  this  way.  First,  let  him  be  a  covetous  man ;  let 
his  heart  be  poisoned  with  covetousness.  Then  let  him 
go  a  little  further  and  take  bribes ;  and,  lastly,  pervert 
judgment.  Lo,  here  is  the  mother,  and  the  daughter, 
and  the  daughter's  daughter.  Avarice  is  the  mother : 
she  brings  forth  bribe-taking,  and  bribe-taking  per- 
verting of  judgment.  There  lacks  a  fourth  thing  to 
make  up  the  mess,  which,  so  help  me  God,  if  I  were 
judge,  should  be  lianyum  tuum,  a  Tyburn  tippet  to 
take  with  him ;  an  it  were  the  judge  of  the  King's 
Bench,  my  Lord  Chief  Judge  of  England,  yea,  an  it 
were  my  Lord  Chancellor  himself,  to  Tyburn  with 
him."  We  will  quote  but  one  more  passage.  "  He 
that  took  the  silver  basin  and  ewer  for  a  bribe,  thinketh 
that  it  will  never  come  out.  But  he  may  now  know 
that  I  know  it,  and  I  know  it  not  alone  ;  there  be  more 
beside  me  that  know  it.  Oh,  briber  and  bribery !  He 
was  never  a  good  man  that  will  so  take  bribes.  Nor 
can  I  believe  that  he  that  is  a  briber  will  be  a  good 
justice.  It  will  never  be  merry  in  England  till  we 
have  the  skins  of  such.  For  what  iieedeth  bribing 
where  men  do  their  things  uprightly  ?  " 

This  was  not  the  language  of  a  great  philosopher 
who  had  made  new  discoveries  in  moral  and  political 
science.  It  Avas  the  plain  talk  of  a  plain  man,  whc 
sprang  from  the  body  of  the  people,  who  sympathised 
strongly  with  their  wants  and  their  feelings,  and  whc 
coldly  uttered  their  opinions.  It  was  on  account  of  the 


LORD  BACOJf.  425 

fearless  way  in  which  stout-hearted  old  Hugh  exposed 
the  misdeeds  of  men  in  ermine  tippets  and  gold  collars, 
that  the  Londoners  cheered  him,  as  he  walked  down 
the  Strand  to  preach  at  Whitehall,  struggled  for  a 
touch  of  his  gown,  and  bawled  "  Have  at  them,  Father 
Latimer."  It  is  plain,  from  the  passages  which  we 
have  quoted,  and  from  fifty  others  which  we  might 
quote,  that,  long  before  Bacon  was  born,  the  accepting 
of  presents  by  a  judge  was  known  to  be  a  wicked  and 
shameful  act,  that  the  fine  words  under  which  it  was 
the  fashion  to  veil  such  corrupt  practices  were  even  then 
seen  through  by  the  common  people,  that  the  distinc- 
tion on  which  Mr.  Montagu  insists  between  compli- 
ments and  bribes  was  even  then  laughed  at  as  a  mere 
colouring.  There  may  be  some  oratorical  exaggeration 
in  what  Latimer  says  about  the  Tyburn  tippet  and  the 
sign  of  the  judge's  skin  ;  but  the  fact  that  he  ventured 
to  use  such  expressions  is  amply  sufficient  to  prove  that 
the  gift-taking  judges,  the  receivers  of  silver  basins  and 
ewers,  were  regarded  as  such  pests  of  the  common- 
wealth that  a  venerable  divine  might,  without  any 
breach  of  Christian  charity,  publicly  pray  to  God  for 
their  detection  and  their  condign  punishment. 

Mr.  Montagu  tells  us,  most  justly,  that  we  ought  not 
to  transfer  the  opinions  of  our  age  to  a  former  age. 
But  he  has  himself  committed  a  greater  error  than  that 
against  which  he  has  cautioned  his  readers.  Without 
any  evidence,  nay,  in.  the  face  of  the  strongest  evidence, 
ho  ascribes  to  the  people  of  a  former  age  a  set  of  opinions 
which  no  people  ever  held.  But  any  hypothesis  is  in 
his  view  more  probable  than  that  Bacon  should  have 
been  a  dishonest  man.  We  firmly  believe  that,  if 
papers  were  to  be  discovered  which  should  irresistibly 
prove,  that  Bacon  was  concerned  in  the  poisoning  of 


426  LORD  BACON. 

Sir  Thomas  Overbuiy,  Mr.  Montagu  would  tel]  us 
that,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century,  it 
was  not  thought  improper  in  a  man  to  put  arsenic  into 
the  broth  of  his  friends,  and  that  we  ought  to  blame, 
not  Bacon,  but  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 

But  why  should  we  have  recourse  to  any  other 
evidence,  when  the  proceeding  against  Lord  Baron  is 
itself  the  best  evidence  on  the  subject  ?  When  Mr. 
Montagu  tells  us  that  we  ought  not  to  transfer  the 
opinions  of  our  age  to  Bacon's  age,  he  appears  alto- 
gether to  forget  that  it  was  by  men  of  Bacon's  own  agfe 
that  Bacon  was  prosecuted,  tried,  convicted,  and  sen- 
tenced. Did  not  they  know  what  their  own  opinions 
were  ?  Did  not  they  know  whether  they  thought  the 
taking  of  gifts  by  a  judge  a  crime  or  not  ?  Mr.  Mon- 
tagu complains  bitterly  that  Bacon  was  induced  to 
abstain  from  making  a  defence.  But,  if  Bacon's  de- 
fence resembled  that  which  is  made  for  him  in  the 
volume  before  us,  it  would  have  been  unnecessary  to 
trouble  the  Houses  with  it.  The  Lords  and  Commons 
did  not  want  Bacon  to  tell  them  the  thoughts  of  their 
own  hearts,  to  inform  them  that  they  did  not  consider 
such  practices  as  those  in  which  they  had  detected  him 
as  at  all  culpable.  Mr.  Montagu's  proposition  may 
indeed  be  fairly  stated  thus  :  —  It  was  very  hard  that 
Bacon's  contemporaries  should  think  it  wrong  in  him  to 
do  what  they  did  not  think  it  wrong  in  him  to  do. 
Hard  indeed  ;  and  withal  somewhat  improbable.  Will 
any  person  say  that  the  Commons  who  impeached 
Bacon  for  taking  presents,  and  the  Lords  who  sen- 
tenced him  to  fine,  imprisonment,  and  degradation  for 
taking  presents,  did  not  know  that  the  talcing  of  presents 
was  a  crime  ?  Or,  will  any  person  say  that  Bacon  did 
not  know  what  the  whole  House  of  Commons  and  the 


LORD  BACON.  427 

«vhole  House  of  Lords  knew?  Nobody  who  is  not 
prepared  to  maintain  one  of  these  absurd  propositions 
can  deny  that  Bacon  Committed  what  he  knew  to  be 
a  crime. 

It  cannot  be  pretended  that  the  Houses  were  seeking 
occasion  to  ruin  Bacon,  and  that  they  therefore  brought 
him  to  punishment  on  charges  which  they  themselvoi 
knew  to  be  frivolous.  In  no  quarter  was  there  the 
faintest  indication  of  a  disposition  to  treat  him  harshly. 
Through  the  whole  proceeding  there  was  no  symptom 
of  personal  animosity  or  of  factious  violence  in  either 
House.  Indeed,  we  will  venture  to  say  that  no  State- 
Trial  in  our  histoiy  is  more  creditable  to  all  who  took 
part  in  it,  either  as  prosecutors  or  judges.  The  decency 
the  gravity,  the  public  spirit,  the  justice  moderated  but 
not  unnerved  by  compassion,  which  appeared  in  every 
part  of  the  transaction,  would  do  honour  to  the  most 
respectable  public  men  in  our  own  'times.  The  accus- 
ers, while  they  discharged  their  duty  to  their  constitu- 
ents by  bringing  the  misdeeds  of  the  Chancellor  to 
light,  spoke  with  admiration  of  his  many  eminent  qual- 
ities. The  Lords,  while  condemning  him,  complimented 
\mn  on  the  ingenuousness  of  his  confession,  and  spared 
\iirn  the  humiliation  of  a  public  appearance  at  their  bar. 
So  strong  was  the  contagion  of  good  feeling  that  even 
Sir  Edward  Coke,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  behaved 
like  a  gentleman.  No  criminal  ever  had  more  temper- 
ate prosecutors  than  Bacon.  No  criminal  ever  had 
more  favourable  judges.  If  he  was  Convicted,  it  was 
(-ecar.se  it  was  impossible  to  acquit  him  without  offering 
the  grossest  outrage  to  justice  and  common  sense. 

Mr.  Montagu's  other  argument,  namely,  the?-  Bacon, 
though  he  took  gifts,  did  not  take  bribes,  see'- is  to  us 
as  futile  as  that  which  we  have  considered.  Indeed, 


128  LORD  BACON". 

we  might  be  content  to  leave  it  to  be  answered  by  the 
plainest  man  among  our  readers.  Demosthenes  noticed 
it  with  contempt  more  than  two  thousand  years  ago. 
Latimer,  we  have  seen,  treated  this  sophistry  with  sim- 
ilar disdain.  "  Leave  colouring,"  said  he,  "  and  call 
these  things  by  their  Christian  name,  bribes."  Mr. 
Montagu  attempts,  somewhat  unfairly,  we  must  say,  to 
represent  the  presents  which  Bacon  received  as  similar 
to  the  perquisites  which  suitors  paid  to  the  members  of 
the  Parliaments  of  France.  The  French  magistrate 
had  a  legal  right  to  his  fee ;  and  the  amount  of  the  fee 
was  regulated  by  law.  Whether  this  be  a  good  mode 
•of  remunerating  judges  is  not  the  question.  But  what 
analogy  is  there  between  payments  of  this  sort  and  the 
presents  which  Bacon  received,  presents  wliich  were 
not  sanctioned  by  the  law,  which  were  not  made  under 
the  public  eye,  and  of  which  the  amount  was  regulated 
only  by  private  bargain  between  the  magistrate  and  the 
suitor  ? 

Again,  it  is  mere  trifling  to  say  that  Bacon  could  not 
have  meant  to  act  corruptly  because  he  employed  the 
agency  of  men  of  rank,  of  bishops,  privy  councillors, 
and  members  of  Parliament ;  as.  if  the  whole  history  of 
that  generation  wwas  not  full  of  the  low  actions  of  high 
people  ;  as  if  it  was  not  notorious  that  men,  as  exalted 
in  rank  as  any  of  the  decoys  that  Bacon  employed,  had 
oimped  for  Somerset  and  poisoned  Overbury. 

But,  says  Mr.  Montagu,  these  presents  "  were  made 
openly  and  with  the  greatest  publicity."  Tliis  would 
indeed  be  a  strong  argument  in  favour  of  Bacon.  But 

o        o 

we  deny  the  fact.  In  one,  and  one  only,  of  the  cases 
in  which  Bacon  was  accused  of  corruptly  receiving 
gifts,  does  he  appear  to  have  received  a  gift  publicly. 
This  was  in  a  matter  depending  between  the  Company 


LORD  BACON.  429 

of  Ap  rthecaries  and  the  Company  of  Grocers.  Bacon, 
hi  his  Confession,  insisted  strongly  on  the  circumstance 
that  he  had  on  this  occasion  taken  a  present  publicly, 
as  a  proof  that  he  had  not  taken  it  corruptly.  Is  it  not 
clear  that,  if  he  had  taken  the  presents  mentioned  in 
the  other  charges  in  the  same  public  manner,  he  would 
have  dwelt  on  this  point  in  his  answer  to  those  charges  ? 
The  fact  that  he  insists  so  strongly  on  the  publicity  of 
one  particular  present  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  prove  thai 
the  other  presents  were  not  publicly  takt_n.  Why  he 
took  this  present  publicly  and  the  rest  secretly,  is  evi- 
dent, lie  on  that  occasion  acted  openly,  because  he 
was  acting  honestly.  He  was  not  on  that  occasion  sit- 
ting judicially.  He  was  called  in  to  effect  an  amicable 
arrangement  between  two  parties.  Both  were  satisfied 
with  his  decision.  Both  joined  in  making  him  a  pres- 
ent in  return  for  his  trouble.  Whether  it  was  quite 
delicate  in  a  man  of  his  rank  to  accept  a  present  under 
such  circumstances,  may  be  questioned.  But  there  is 
no  ground  in  this  case  for  accusing  him  of  corruption. 

Unhappily,  the  very  circumstances  which  prove  him 
to  have  been  innocent  in  this  case  prove  him  to  have 
been  guilty  on  the  other  charges.  Once,  and  once 
nly,  he  alleges  that  he  received  a  present  publicly. 
The  natural  inference  is  that  in  all  the  other  cases  men- 
tioned in  the  articles  against  him  he  received  presents 
secretly.  When  we  examine  the  single  case  in  which 
he  alleges  that  he  received  a  present  publicly,  we  find 
that  it  is  also  the  single  case  in  which  there  was  no  gross 
impropriety  in  his  receiving  a  present.  Is  it  then  pos- 
sible to  doubt  that  his  reason  for  not  receiving  other 
presents  in  as  public  a  manner  was  that  he  knew  that  it 
was  wrong  to  receive  them  ? 

One  argument  still  remains,  plausible  in  appearance. 


ISO  LORD  BACON. 

but  admitting  of  easy  and  complete  refutation.  The 
two  chief  complainants,  Aubrey  and  Egerton,  had  both 
made  presents  to  the  Chancellor.  But  he  had  decided 
against  them  both.  Therefore,  he  had  not  received 
those  presents  as  bribes.  "  The  complaints  of  his  ac- 
cusers were,"  says  Mr.  Montagu,  "  not  that  the  gratui- 
ties had,  but  that  they  had  not  influenced  Bacon's  judg- 
ment, as  he  had  decided  against  them." 

The  truth  is,  that  it  is  precisely  in  this  way  that  an 
extensive  system  of  corruption  is  generally  detected. 
A  person  who,  by  a  bribe,  has  procured  a  decree  in  his 
favour,  is  by  no  means  likely  to  come  forward  of  his 
own  accord  as  an  accuser.  He  is  content.  He  lias  his 
quid  pro  quo.  He  is  not  impelled  either  by  interested 
or  by  vindictive  motives  to  bring  the  transaction  before 
the  public.  On  the  contrary,  he  has  almost  as  strong 
motives  for  holding  his  tongue  as  the  judge  himself  can 
have.  But  when  a  judge  practises  corruption,  as  we 
fear  that  Bacon  practised  it,  on  a  large  scale,  and  has 
many  agents  looking  out  in  different  quarters  for  prey, 
it  will  sometimes  happen  that  he  will  be  bribed  on  both 
sides.  It  will  sometimes  happen  that  he  will  receive 
money  from  suitors  who  are  so  obviously  in  the  wrong 
that  he  cannot  with  decency  do  any  thing  to  serve  them. 
Thus  he  will  now  and  then  be  forced  to  pronounce 
against  a  person  from  whom  he  has  received  a  present ; 
and  he  makes  that  person  a  deadly  enemy.  The  hun- 
dreds who  have  got  what  they  paid  for  remain  quiet. 
It  is  the  two  or  three  wrho  have  paid,  and  have  nothing 
to  show  for  their  money,  who  are  noisy. 

The  memorable  case  of  the  Goe/mans  is  an  example 
of  this.  Beaumarchais  had  an  important  suit  depend- 
ing before  the  Parliament  of  Paris.  M.  Goe'zman  v  ad 
the  judge  on  whom  chiefly  the  decision  depended.  It 


LORD  BACON.  43.1 

was  hinted  to  Beaumarcliais  that  Madame  Goezman 
might  be  propitiated  by  a  present.  He  accordingly 
offered  a  purse  of  gold  to  the  lady,  who  received  it 
graciously.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that,  if  the  decis- 
ion of  the  court  had  been  favourable  to  him,  these 
things  would  never  have  been  known  to  the  world; 
But  he  lost  his  cause.  Almost  the  whole  sum  which 
he  had  expended  in  bribery  was  immediately  refunded  ; 
and  those  who  had  disappointed  him  probably  thought 
that  he  would  not,  for  the  mere  gratification  of  his 
malevolence,  make  public  a  transaction  which  was 
discreditable  to  himself  as  well  as  to  them.  They 
knew  little  of  him.  He  soon  taught  them  to  curse  the 
day  in  which  they  had  dared  to  trifle  with  a  man  of  so 
revengeful  and  turbulent  a  spirit,  of  such  dauntless 
effrontery,  and  of  such  eminent  talents  for  controversy 
and  satire.  He  compelled  the  Parliament  to  put  a  de- 
grading stigma  on  M.  Goezman.  He  drove  Madame 
Goezman  to  a  convent.  Till  it  was  too  late  to  pause, 
his  excited  passions  did  not  suffer  him  to  remember  that 
he  could  effect  their  ruin  only  by  disclosures  ruinous  to 
himself.  We  could  give  other  instances.  But  it  is 
needless.  No  person  well  acquainted  with  human  na- 
ture can  fail  to  perceive  that,  if  the  doctrine  for  which 
Mr.  Montagu  contends  were  admitted,  society  would  be 
deprived  of  almost  the  only  chance  which  it  has  of  de- 
tecting the  corrupt  practices  of  judges. 

We  return  to  our  narrative.  The  sentence  cf  Bacon 
tad  scarcely  been  pronounced  when  it  was  mitigated. 
\Ie  was  indeed  sent  to  the  Tower.  But  this  was 
merely  a  form.  In  two  days  he  was  set  at  liberty,  and 
*3on  aftor  he  retired  to  Gorhambury.  His  fine  was 
speedily  released  by  the  Crown.  He  was  next  suffered 
k)  present  himself  at  Court ;  and  at  length,  in  1624,  the 


LORD  BACON. 

rest  of  his  punishment  was  remitted.  He  was  now  at 
liberty  to.  resume  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and 
he  was  actually  summoned  to  the  next  Parliament. 
But  age,  infirmity,  and  perhaps  shame,  prevented  him 
from  attending.  The  Government  allowed  him  a  pen- 
sion of  twelve  hundred  pounds  a  year  ;  and  his  whole 
annual  income  is  estimated  by  Mr.  Montagu  at  two 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds,  a  sum  which  was  prob- 
ably above  the  average  income  of  a  nobleman  of  that 
generation,  and  which  was  certainly  sufficient  for  com- 
fort and  even  for  splendour.  Unhappily,  Bacon  was 
fond  of  display,  and  unused  to  pay  minute  attention  to 
domestic  affairs.  He  was  not  easily  persuaded  to  give 
up  any  part  of  the  magnificence  to  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  in  the  time  of  his  power  and  prosperity. 
No  pressure  of  distress  could  induce  him  to  part  with 
the  woods  of  Gorhambury.  "  I  will  not,"  he  said,  "  be 
stripped  of  my  feathers."  He  travelled  with  so  splen- 
did an  equipage  and  so  large  a  retinue'  that  P/ince 
Charles,  who  once  fell  in  with  him  on  the  rou/1,  ex- 
claimed with  surprise,  "  Well ;  do  what  we  can,  this 
man  scorns  to  go  out  in  snuff."  This  careles?Aess  and 
ostentation  reduced  Bacon  to  frequent  distress.  He  was 
under  the  necessity  of  parting  with  York  HOD /,o,  and  of 
taking  up  his  residence,  during  his  visits  to  London,  at 
his  old  chambers  in  Gray's  Inn.  He  had  ( ther  vexa- 
tions, the  exact  nature  of  which  is  unknown.  It  is  evi- 
dent from  his  will  that  some  part  of  his  wife's  conduct 
dad  greatly  disturbed  and  irritated  him. 

But,  whatever  might  be  his  pecuniary  difficulties  or 
Ills  conjugal  discomforts,  the  powers  of  his  intellect  still 
"emained  undiminished.  Those  noble  studies  for  which 
be  had  found  leisure  in  the  midst  of  professional  drudg- 
ery and  of  courtly  intrigues  gave  to  this  last  sad  stage  of 


LOKD  BACON.  483 

his  life  a  dignity  beyond  wh.it  power  or  titles  could  be- 
stow. Impeached,  convicted,  sentenced,  driven  with 
ignominy  from  the  presence  of  his  Sovereign,  shut  out 
from  the  deliberations  of  his  fellow  nobles,  loaded  with 
debt,  branded  with  dishonour,  sinking  under  the  weight 
of  years,  sorrows,  and  diseases,  Bacon  was  Bacon  still. 
"  My  conceit  of  his  person,"  says  Ben  Jonson  very 
finely,  "  was  never  increased  tOAvards  him  by  his  place 
or  honours  ;  but  I  have  and  do  reverence  him  for  the 
greatness  that  was  only  proper  to  himself;  in  that  he 
seemed  to  me  ever,  by  his  work,  one  of  the  greatest 
men  and  most  worthy  of  admiration,  that  had  been  in 
many  ages.  In  his  adversity  I  ever  prayed  that  God 
would  give  him  strength ;  for  greatness  he  could  not 
want." 

The  services  which  Bacon  rendered  to  letters  during 
the  last  five  years  of  his  life,  amidst  ten  thousand 
distractions  and  vexations,  increase  the  rejrret  with 

7  O 

which  we  think  on  the  many  years  which  he  had 
wasted,  to  use  the  words  of  Sir  Thomas  Bodley,  "  on 
such  study  as  was  not  worthy  of  such  a  student." 
He  commenced  a  Digest  of  the  Laws  of  England,  a 
History  of  England  under  the  Princes  of  the  House 

•/  O 

of  Tudor,  a  body  of  Natural  History,  a  Philosophical 
Romance.  He  made  extensive  and  valuable  additions 
fo  his  Essays.  He  published  the  inestimable  Treatise 
De  Augmentis  Scientianim.  The  very  trifles  with 
which  he  amused  himself  in  hours  of  pain  and  lan- 
guor bore  the  mark  of  his  mind.  The  best  collection 
»f  jests  in  the  world  is  that  which  he  dictated  from 
meraory,  without  referring  to  any  book,  on  a  day  on 
which  illness  had  rendered  him  incapable  of  serious 
study. 

The  great  apostle  of  experimental  philosophy  was 

VOL.    III.  19 


434  LORD  BACON. 

destined  to  be  its  martyr.  It  liad  occurred  to  him 
that  snow  might  be  used  with  advantage  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preventing  animal  substances  from  putrefying, 
On  a  very  cold  day,  early  in  the  spring  of  the  yeai1 
1620,  he  alighted  from  his  coach  near  Highgate,  in 
order  to  try  the  experiment.  He  went  into  a  cottage, 
bought  a  fowl,  and  with  his  own  hands  stuffed  it  with 
snow.  While  thus  engaged  he  felt  a  sudden  chill, 
and  was  soon  so  much  indisposed  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  return  to  Gray's  Inn.  The  Earl  of 
Arundel,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted,  had  a 
house  at  Highgate.  To  that  house  Bacon  was  carried. 
The  Earl  was  absent ;  but  the  servants  who  were  in 
charge  of  the  place  showed  great  respect  and  attention 
to  the  illustrious  guest.  Here,  after  an  illness  of 
about  a  week,  he  expired  early  on  the  morning  of 
Easter-day,  1626.  His  mind  appears  to  have  retained 
its  strength  and  liveliness  to  the  end.  He  did  not 
forget  the  fowl  which  had  caused  his  death.  In  the 
last  letter  that  he  ever  wrote,  with  fingers  which,  as 
he  said,  could  not  steadily  hold  a  pen,  he  did  not  omit 
to  mention  that  the  experiment  of  the  snow  had  suc- 
ceeded "  excellently  well." 

Our  opinion  of  the  moral  character  of  this  great 
man  has  already  been  sufficiently  explained.  Had 
his  life  been  passed  in  literary  retirement,  he  would, 
in  all  probability,  have  deserved  to  be  considered,  not 
only  as  a  great  philosopher,  but  as  a  worthy  and 
good-natured  member  of  society.  But  neither  his 
principles  nor  his  spirit  were  such  as  could  be  trusted, 
when  strong  temptations  were  to  be  resisted,  and 
lerious  dangers  to  be  braved. 

In  his  will  he  expressed  with  singular  brevity, 
energy,  dignity,  and  pathos,  a  mournful  conscicus- 


LORD  BACON.  435 

ness  that  his  actions  had  not  been  such  as  to  entitle 
him  to  the  esteem  of  those  under  whose  observation 
his  life  had  been  passed,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
proud  confidence  that  his  writings  had  secured  for 
him  a  high  and  permanent  place  among  the  bene- 
factors of  mankind.  So  at  least  we  understand  thcsa 
striking  words  which  have  been  often  quoted,  but 
which  we  must  quote  once  more  ;  "  For  nry  name  and 
memory,  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and 
to  foreign  nations,  and  to  the  next  age." 

His  confidence  was  just.  From  the  day  of  his 
dtatli  his  fame  has  been  constantly  and  steadily  pro- 
gressive ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  his  name  will  be 
named  with  reverence  to  the  latest  ages,  and  to  the 
remotest  ends  of  the  civilised  world. 

The  chief  peculiarity  of  Bacon's  philosophy  seems 
to  us  to  have  been  this,  that  it  aimed  at  things  alto- 
gether different  from  those  which  his  predecessors  had 
proposed  to  themselves.  This  was  his  own  opinjon. 
"  Finis  scientiarum,"  says  he,  "  a  nemine  adhuc  bene 
positus  est."  l  And  again,  "  Omnium  gravisshnus 
error  in  deviatione  ab  ultimo  doctrinarum  fine  con- 
sistit."  2  "  Nee  ipsa  meta,"  says  he  elsewhere,  "  adhuc 
ulli,  quod  sciam,  mortalium  posita  est  et  defixa." 3 
The  more  carefully  his  works  are  examined,  the  more 
clearly,  we  think,  it  will  appear  that  this  is  the  real 
clue  to  his  whole  system,  and  that  he  used  means  dif- 
ferent from  those  used  by  other  philosophers,  because 
ho  wished  to  arrive  at  an  end  altr  gather  different  from 
hsirs. 

What  then  was  the  end  which  Bacon  proposed  to 
uimself  ?  It  was,  to  use  his  own  emphatic  expressioni 

1  Nmiim  Oryanvm,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  81.  *  De  Augmentit,  Lib  1. 

*  Cugitata  et  vita. 


i36  LORD  BACON. 

"  fruit."  It  was  the  multiplying  of  human  enjoyments 
and  the  mitigating  of  human  sufferings.  It  was  "  the 
relief  of  man's  estate."  1  It  was  "  commodis  hurnanis 
inservire."  2  It  was  "  effieaciter  operari  ad  sublcvanda 
vitae  humanse  incommoda."  3  It  was  "  dotare  vitam 
humanam  novis  inventis  el  copiis."  4  It  was  "  genus 
humanum  novis  operibus  et  potestatibus  continue  do- 
tare."  5  This  was  the  object  of  all  his  speculations  in 
every  department  of  science,  in  natural  philosophy,  in 
legislation,  in  politics,  in  morals. 

Two  words  form  the  key  of  the  Baconian  doctrine, 
Utility  and  Progress.  The  ancient  philosophy  dis- 
dained to  be  useful,  and  was  content  to  be  stationary. 
It  dealt  largely  in  theories  of  moral  perfection,  which 
were  so  sublime  that  they  never  could  be  more  than 
theories  ;  in  attempts  to  solve  insoluble  enigmas  ;  in 
exhortations  to  the  attainment  of  unattainable  frames 
of  mind.  It  could  not  condescend  to  the  humble  office 
of  ministering  to  the  comfort  of  human  beings.  All 
the  schools  contemned  that  office  as  degrading  ;  some 
censured  it  as  immoral.  Once  indeed  Posidonius,  a 
distinguished  writer  of  the  age  of  Cicero  and  Ciesar, 
so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  enumerate,  among  the  hum- 
bler blessings  which  mankind  owed  to  philosophy,  the 
discovery  of  the  principle  of  the  arch,  and  the  intro- 
duction of  the  use  of  metals.  This  eulogy  was  con- 
sidered as  an  affront,  and  was  taken  up  with  proper 
spirit.  Seneca  vehemently  disclaims  these  insulting 
compliments.6  Philosophy,  according  to  him,  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  teaching  men  to  rear  arched  roofs  over 
their  heads.  The  true  philosopher  does  not  care 

1  Advancement  rf  Learning,  Book  1. 

•  De  Augmenlis,  Lib.  7.  Cap.  1.  3  fb.  Lib.  2.  Cap.  2. 

•  Novum  Organum,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  81.  6  Coyitata  it  vita. 

•  Soucca,  Epi$t.  90. 


1.0KD  BACON.  43J 

whether  he  has  an  arched  roof  or  any  roof.  Philos- 
ophy has  nothing  to  do  with  teaching  men  the  uses  of 
metals.  She  teaches  us  to  be  independent  of  all  mate" 
rial  substances,  of  all  mechanical  contrivances.  The 
wise  man  lives  according  to  nature.  Instead  of  at- 
tempting to  add  to  the  physical  comforts  of  his  species, 
he  regrets  that  his  lot  was  not  cast  in  that  golden  age 
when  the  human  race  had  no  protection  against  the 
cold  but  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  no  screen  from  the 
sun  but  a  cavern.  To  impute  to  such  a  man  any 
share  in  the  invention  or  improvement  of  a  plough,  a 
ship,  or  a  mill,  is  an  insult.  "  In  my  own  time," 
says  Seneca,  "  there  have  been  inventions  of  this 
sort,  transparent  windows,  tubes  for  diffusing  warmth 
equally  through  all  parts  of  a  building,  short-hand, 
which  has  been  carried  to  such  a  perfection  that  a 
writer  can  keep  pace  with  the  most  rapid  speaker. 
But  the  inventing  of  such  things  is  drudgery  for  the 
lowest  slaves ;  philosophy  lies  deeper.  It  is  not  her 
office  to  teach  men  how  to  use  their  hands.  The  ob 
ject  of  her  lessons  is  to  form  the  soul.  Non  est,  in- 
quam,  instrumentorum  ad  usus  necessaries  opifex"  If 
the  non  were  left  out,  tliis  last  sentence  would  be  no 
bad  description  of  the  Baconian  philosophy,  and  would, 
indeed,  very  much  resemble  several  expressions  in  the 
Novum  Oryanum,  "  We  shall  next  be  told,"  exclaims 
Seneca,  "  that  the  first  shoemaker  was  a  philosopher." 
For  our  own  part,  if  we  are  forced  to  make  our  choice 
between  the  first  shoemaker,  and  the  author  of  the 
three  books  On  Anger,  we  pronounce  for  the  shoe- 
maker. It  may  be  worse  to  be  angry  than  to  be  wet. 
But  slices  have  kept  millions  from  being  wet ;  and  we 
doubt  whether  Seneca  ever  kept  any  body  from  being 
Uigry. 


438  LORD  BACON. 

It  is  very  reluctantly  that  Seneca  can  be  brought  to 
confess  that  any  philosopher  had  ever  paid  the  small- 
est att  3ntion  to  any  thing  that  could  possibly  promote 
what  vulgar  people  would  consider  as  the  well-being  cf 
mankind.  He  labors  to  clear  Democritus  from  the 
disgraceful  imputation  of  having  made  the  first  arch, 
and  Anacharsis  from  the  charge  of  having  contrived 
the  potter's  wheel.  He  is  forced  to  own  that  such  a 
thing  might  happen ;  and  it  may  also  happen,  he  tells 
us,  that  a  philosopher  may  be  swift  of  foot.  But  it  is 
not  in  his  character  of  philosopher  that  he  either  wins 
a  race  or  invents  a  machine.  No,  to  be  sure.  The 
business  of  a  philosopher  was  to  declaim  in  praise  of 
poverty,  with  two  millions  sterling  out  at  usury,  to  med- 
itate epigrammatic  conceits  about  the  evils  of  luxury, 
in  gardens  which  moved  the  envy  of  sovereigns,  to  rant 
about  liberty,  while  fawning  on  the  insolent  and  pam- 
pered freedmen  of  a  tyrant,  to  celebrate  the  divine 
beauty  of  virtue  with  the  same  pen  which  had  just 
before  written  a  defence  of  the  murder  of  a  mother  by 
a  son. 

From  the  cant  of  this  philosophy,  a  philosophy 
meanly  proud  of  its  own  unprofitableness,  it  is  delight- 
fill  to  turn  to  the  lessons  of  the  great  English  teacher. 
We  can  almost  forgive  all  the  faults  of  Bacon's  life 
when  we  read  that  singularly  graceful  and  dignified 
passage :  "  Ego  certe,  ut  de  me  ipso,  quod  res  est, 
loquar,  ct  in  iis  qua?  mine  edo,  et  in  iis  quas  in  poste- 
rum  meditor,  dignitatem  ingenii  et  nominis  moi,  si  qua 
git,  ssepius  scions  et  volens  projicio,  dum  commodis 
hiimanis  inserviam  ;  quique  architectus  fortasse  in  phi- 
[osophia  et  scientiis  esse  debeam,  etiam  operarius,  et 
bajulus,  et  quidvis  demum  fio,  cum  haud  pauca  quae 
omnino  fieri  necesse  sit,  alii  autem  ob  innatam  super- 


LORD  BACON.  439 

oiarn  subterfugiant,  ipse  sustineam  et  exsequar."  !  This 
philanthropic  which,  as  he  said  in  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  his  early  letters,  "  was  so  fixed  in  his 
mind,  as  it  could  not  be  removed,"  this  majestic  humil- 
ity, this  persuasion  that  nothing  can  be  too  insignifi- 
cant for  the  attention  of  the  wisest,  which  is  not  too 
insignificant  to  give  pleasure  or  pain  to  the  meanest,  is 
the  great  characteristic  distinction,  the  essential  spirit 
of  the  Baconian  philosophy.  We  trace  it  in  all  that 
Bacon  has  written  on  Physics,  on  Laws,  on  Morals. 
And  we  conceive  that  from  this  peculiarity  all  the  other 
peculiarities  of  his  system  directly  and  almost  necessa- 
rily sprang. 

The  spirit  wliich  appears  in  the  passage  of  Seneca 
to  which  we  have  referred,  tainted  the  whole  body  of 
the  ancient  philosophy  from  the  time  of  Socrates  down- 
wards, and  took  possession  of  intellects  with  which 
that  of  Seneca  cannot  for  a  moment  be  compared.  It 
pervades  the  dialogues  of  Plato.  It  may  be  distinctly 
traced  in  many  parts  of  the  works  of  Aristotle.  Bacon 
has  dropped  hints,  from  which  it  may  be  inferred  that, 
in  his  opinion,  the  prevalence  of  this  feeling  was  in 
a  great  measure  to  be  attributed  to  the  influence  of 
Socrates.  Our  great  countryman  evidently  did  not 
consider  the  revolution  which  Socrates  effected  in  phi- 
losophy as  a  happy  event,  and  constantly  maintained 
that  the  earlier  Greek  speculators,  Democritus  in  par- 
ticular, were,  on  the  whole,  superior  to  their  more 
celebrated  successoi's.2 

Assuredly  if  the  tree  which  Socrates   planted  and 


1  He  Augmcntis,  Lib.  7.  Cap.  1. 

*  Novwn   Oryanum,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  71,  79.    De  Augmentis,  Lib.  3.  Cap.  4. 
Pa  Principiis  atquo  originibus.     Cogitata  el  visa.     Redargutio  philosophi- 

Iran. 


440  LORD  BACON. 

Plato  watered  Is  to  be  judged  of  by  its  flowers  and 
leaves,  it  is  tlie  noblest  of  trees.  But  if  we  take  the 
homely  test  of  Bacon,  if  we  judge  of  the  tree  by  its 
fruits,  our  opinion  of  it  may  perhaps  be  less  favourable. 
When  we  sum  up  all  the  useful  truths  which  we  owe  to 
that  philosophy,  to  what  do  they  amount  ?  We  find,  in- 
deed, abundant  proofs  that  some  of  those  who  cultivated 
it  were  men  of  the  first  order  of  intellect.  We  find 
among  their  writings  incomparable  specimens  both  of 
dialectical  and  rhetorical  art.  We  have  no  doubt  that 
the  ancient  controversies  were  of  use,  in  so  far  as  they 
served  to  exercise  the  faculties  of  the  disputants ;  for 
there  is  no  controversy  so  idle  that  it  may  not  be  of  use 
in  this  way.  But,  when  we  look  for  something  more, 
for  something  which  adds  to  the  comforts  or  alleviates 
the  calamities  of  the  human  race,  we  are  forced  to  own 
ourselves  disappointed.  We  are  forced  to  say  with 
Bacon  that  this  celebrated  philosophy  ended  in  nothing 
but  disputation,  that  it  was  neither  a  vineyard  nor  an 
olive-ground,  but  an  intricate  wood  of  briars  and  thistles, 
from  which  those  who  lost  themselves  in  it  brought 
back  many  scratches  and  no  food. 1 

We  readily  acknowledge  that  some  of  the  teachers 
of  this  unfruitful  wisdom  were  among  the  greatest  men 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  If  we  admit  the  justice 
of  Bacon's  censure,  we  admit  it  with  regret,  similar  to 
that  which  Dante  felt  when  he  learned  the  fate  of  those 
illustrious  heathens  Avho  were  doomed  to  the  first  circle 
of  Hell. 

"  Gran  dnol  mi  prese  al  cuor  quando  lo  'ntesi, 
Ferocehc  gcnte  di  molto  vaktre 
Conobbi  che  'n  quel  limbo  eran  sospesi." 

But  in  truth  the  very  admiration  which  we  feel  f«i 

1  Novum  Organum,  Lib.  1.  Af-h.  72. 


LORD  BACON.  441 

| 

the  eminent  philosophers  of  antiquity  forces  us  to  adopt 
the  opinion  that  their  powers  were  systematically  mis- 
directed. For  how  else  could  it  be  that  such  powers 
should  effect  so  little  for  mankind  ?  A  pedestrian  mav 
show  as  much  muscular  vigour  on  a  treadmill  as  on  the 
highway  road.  But  on  the  road  his  vigour  will  as- 
suredly carry  him  forward  ;  and  on  the  treadmill  he  will 
not  advance  an  inch.  The  ancient  philosophy  was  a 
treadmill,  not  a  path.  It  was  made  up  of  revolving 
questions,  of  controversies  which  were  always  beginning 
again.  It  was  a  contrivance  for  having  much  exertion 
and  no  progress.  We  must  acknowledge  that  more 
than  once,  while  contemplating  the  doctrines  of  the 
Academy  and  the  Portico,  even  as  they  appear  in  the 
transparent  splendour  of  Cicero's  incomparable  diction, 
we  have  been  tempted  to  mutter  with  the  surly  centu- 
rion in  Persius,  "  Cur  quis  non  prandeat  hoc  est  ?" 
What  is  the  highest  good,  whether  pain  be  an  evil, 
whether  all  things  be  fated,  whether  we  can  be  certain 
of  any  thing,  whether  we  can  be  certain  that  we  are 
certain  of  nothing,  whether  a  wise  man  can  be  unhappy, 
whether  all  departures  from  right  be  equally  reprehen- 
sible, these,  and  other  questions  of  the  same  sort,  occu- 
pied the  brains,  the  tongues,  and  the  pens  of  the  ablest 
men  in  the  civilised  world  during  several  centuries. 
This  sort  of  philosophy,  it  is  evident,  could  not  be  pro- 
gressive. It  might  indeed  sharpen  and  invigorate  the 
minds  of  those  who  devoted  themselves  to  it ;  and  so 
might  the  disputes  of  the  orthodox  Lilliputians  and  the 
heretical  Blefuscudians  about  the  big  ends  and  the  little 
snds  of  eggs.  But  such  disputes  could  add  nothing  to 
the  stock  of  knowledge.  The  human  mind  accordingly, 
instead  of  marching,  merely  marked  time.  It  took  as 
jmich  trouble  as  would  have  sufficed  to  carry  it  forward  , 


442  LOED  BACON. 

and  yet  remained  on  the  same  spot.  There  was  no  ac- 
cumulation of  truth,  no  heritage  of  truth  acquired  by 
the  labour  of  one  generation  and  bequeathed  to  another, 
to  be  again  transmitted  with  large  additions  to  a  third. 
Where  this  philosophy  was  in  the  time  of  Cicero,  there 
it  continued  to  be  in  the  time  of  Seneca,  and  there  it 
continued  to  be  in  the  time  of  Favorinus.  The  same 
sects  were  still  battling  with  the  same  unsatisfactory  ar- 
guments about  the  same  interminable  questions.  There 
had  been  no  want  of  ingenuity,  of  zeal,  of  industry. 
Eveiy  trace  of  intellectual  cultivation  was  there,  except 
a  harvest.  There  had  been  plenty  of  ploughing,  har- 
rowing, reaping,  threshing.  But  the  garners  contained 
only  smut  and  stubble. 

The  ancient  philosophers  did  not  neglect  natural 
science ;  but  they  did  not  cultivate  it  for  the  purpose  of 
increasing  the  power  and  ameliorating  the  condition  of 
man.  The  taint  of  barrenness  had  spread  from  ethical 
to  physical  speculations.  Seneca  wrote  largely  on  nat- 
ural philosophy,  and  magnified  the  importance  of  that 
study.  But  why  ?  Not  because  it  tended  to  assuage 
suffering,  to  multiply  the  conveniences  of  life,  to  extend 
the  empire  of  man  over  the  material  world ;  but  solely 
because  it  tended  to  raise  the  mind  above  low  cares,  tj 
separate  it  from  the  body,  to  exercise  its  subtilty  in  the 
solution  of  very  obscure  questions.1  Thus  natural 
philosophy  was  considered  in  the  light  merely  of  a 
mental  exercise.  It  was  made  subsidiary  to  the  art  of 
disputation  ;  and  it  consequently  proved  altogether  bar 
ren  of  useful  discoveries. 

There  was  one  sect  which,  however  absurd  and  per- 
licious  some  of  its  doctrines  may  have  been,  ought, 

1  Seneca,  Nai.  Quaxt .  prof.  Lib.  3. 


LORD  BACON.  443 

it  should  seem,  to  have  merited  an  exception  from  the 
general  censure  which  Bacon  has  pronounced  on  the 
ancient  schools  of  wisdom.  The  Epicurean,  who  re- 
ferred all  happiness  to  bodily  pleasure,  and  all  evil  to 
bodily  pain,  might  have  been  expected  to  exert  himself 
{'or  the  purpose  of  bettering  his  own  physical  condition 
and  that  of  his  neighbours.  But  the  thought  seems 

O  O 

never  to  have  occurred  to  any  member  of  that  school. 
Indeed,  their  notion,  as  reported  by  their  great  poet, 
was,  that  no  more  improvements  were  to  be  expected 
in  the  arts  which  conduce  to  the  comfort  of  life. 

"Ad  victum  quae  ilagitat  usus 
Omnia  jam  ferine  mortalibus  csse  parata." 

Tins  contented  despondency,  this  disposition  to  ad- 
mire what  has  been  done,  and  to  expect  that  nothing 
more  will  be  done,  is  strongly  characteristic  of  all  the 
schools  which  preceded  the  school  of  Fruit  and  Pro- 
gress. Widely  as  the  Epicurean  and  the  Stoic  differed 
on  most  points,  they  seem  to  have  quite  agreed  in  their 
contempt  for  pursuits  so  vulgar  as  to  be  useful.  The 
philosophy  of  both  was  a  garrulous,  declaiming,  cant- 
ing, wrangling  philosophy.  Century  after  century 
they  continued  to  repeat  their  hostile  war-cries,  Virtue 
and  Pleasure  ;  and  in  the  end  it  appeared  that  the  Epi- 
curean had  added  as  little  to  the  quantity  of  pleasure 
as  the  Stoic  to  the  quantity  of  virtue.  It  is  on  the  ped- 
estal of  Bacon,  not  on  that  of  Epicurus,  that  those 
uoble  lines  ought  to  be  inscribed  : 

"  0  tenebris  tantis  tarn  clarum  extoliere  lumen 
Qui  primus  potuisti,  illustrar-s  uommcda  vitse." 

In  the  fifth  century  Christianity  had  conquered 
paganism,  and  Paganism  had  infected  Christianity. 
The  Church  was  now  victorious  and  corrupt.  Tha 


444  LORD  BACON. 

rites  of  the  Pantheon  had  passed  into  .er  worship,  the 
subtilties  of  the  Academy  into  her  vi  3ed.  In  an  evil 
day,  though  with  great  pomp  ana  solemnity,  —  \ve 
quote  the  language  of  Bacon,  —  was  the  ill-starred  alli- 
ance stricken  between  the  old  philosophy  and  the  new 
faith.1  Questions  widely  different  from  those  which 
had  employed  the  ingenuity  of  Pyrrho  and  Carncadcs:, 
but  just  as  subtle,  just  as  interminable,  and  just  as  un- 
profitable, exercised  the  minds  of  the  lively  and  voluble 
Greeks.  When  learning  began  to  revive  in  the  West, 
similar  trifles  occupied  the  sharp  and  vigorous  intellects 
of  the  Schoolmen.  There  was  another  sowing  of  the 
wind,  and  another  reaping  of  the  whirlwind.  The 
great  work  of  improving  the  condition  of  the  human 
race  was  still  considered  as  unworthy  of  a  man  of  learn- 
ing. Those  who  undertook  that  task,  if  wThat  they  ef- 
fected could  be  readily  comprehended,  were  despised  as 
mechanics  ;  if  not,  they  were  in  danger  of  being  burned 
as  conjurers. 

There  cannot  be  a  stronger  proof  of  the  degree  in 
which  the  human  mind  had  been  misdirected  than  the 
history  of  the  two  greatest  events  which  took  place 
during  the  middle  ages.  We  speak  of  the  invention  of 
Gunpowder  and  of  the  invention  of  Printing.  The 
dates  of  both  are  unknown.  The  authors  of  both  are 
unknown.  Nor  was  this  because  men  were  too  rude 
and  ignorant  to  value  intellectual  superiority.  The 
inventor  of  gunpowder  appears  to  have  been  contem- 
porary writh  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio.  The  inventor 
of  printing  was  certainly  contemporary  with  Nicholas 
the  Fifth,  with  Cosmo  de'  Medici,  and  with  a  crowd 
cf  distinguished  scholars.  But  the  human  mind  stil] 
-utained  that  fatal  bent  which  it  had  received  twc 

1  Cogitata  et  visa. 


LORD   BACON.  445 

thousand  years  earlier.  George  of  Trebisond-  and 
Marsilio  Ficino  would  not  easily  have  been  brought  to 
believe  that  the  inventor  of  the  printing-press  had  done 
more  for  mankind  than  themselves,  or  than  thtfse 
ancient  writers  of  whom  they  were  the  enthusiastic 
votaries. 

At  length  the  time  arrived  when  the  barren  philos- 
ophy which  had,  during  so  many  ages,  employed  the 
faculties  of  the  ablest  of  men,  was  destined  to  fall.  It 
had  worn  many  shapes.  It  had  mingled  itself  with 
many  creeds.  It  had  survived  revolutions  in  which 
empires,  religions,  languages,  races,  had  perished. 
Driven  from  its  ancient  haunts,  it  had  taken  sanc- 
tuary in  that  Church  which  it  had  persecuted,  and  had, 
like  the  daring  fiends  of  the  poet,  placed  its  seat 

"next  the  seat  of  God, 
And  with  its  darkness  dared  affront  his  light." 

Words,  and  more  words,  and  nothing  but  words,  had 
been  all  the  fruit  of  all  the  toil  of  all  the  most  re- 
nowned sages  of  sixty  generations.  But  the  days  of 
this  sterile  exuberance  were  numbered. 

Many  causes  predisposed  the  public  mind  to  a 
change.  The  study  of  a  great  variety  of  ancient 
writers,  though  it  did  not  give  a  rigirt  direction  to 
philosophical  researclf,  did  much  towards  destroying  that 
blind  reverence  for  authority  which  had  prevailed  when 
Aristotle  ruled  alone.  The  rise  of  the  Florentine 
sect  of  Platonists,  a  sect  to  which  belonged  some  of 
the  finest  minds  of  the  fifteenth  century,  was  not  an 
unimportant  event.  The  mere  substitution  of  the 
Academic  for  the  Peripatetic  philosophy  would  indeed 
have  done  little  good.  But  any  thing  was  better  than 
the  old  habit  of  unreasoning  servility.  It  was  s 


446  LOBD  BACON 

thing  to  have  a  choice  of  tyrants.  "  A  spark  of  free- 
dom," as  Gibbon  has  justly  remarked,  "  was  produced 
by  this  collision  of  adverse  servitude." 

Other  causes  might  be  mentioned.  But  it  is  chiefly 
to  the  great  reformation  of  religion  that  we  owe  tho 
great  reformation  of  philosophy.  The  alliance  between 
the  Schools  and  the  Vatican  had  for  ages  been  so  close 
that  those  who  threw  off  the  dominion  of  the  Vatican 
could  not  continue  to  recognise  the  authority  of  the 
Schools.  Most  of  the  chiefs  of  the  schism  treated  the 
Peripatetic  philosophy  with  contempt,  and  spoke  of 
Aristotle  as  if  Aristotle  had  been  answerable  for  all  the 
dogmas  of  Thomas  Aquinas.  "  Nullo  apud  Luther- 
anos  philosophiam  esse  in  pretio,"  was  a  reproach  which 
the  defenders  of  the  Church  of  Rome  loudly  repeated, 
and  which  many  of  the  Protestant  leaders  considered 
as  a  compliment.  Scarcely  any  text  was  more  fre- 
quently cited  by  the  reformers  than  that  in  which 
St.  Paul  cautions  the  Colossians  not  to  let  any  man 
spoil  them  by  philosophy.  Luther,  almost  at  the  outset 
of  his  career,  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  no  man 
could  be  at  once  a  proficient  in  the  school  of  Aristotle 
and  in  that  of  Christ.,  Zwingle,  Bucer,  Peter  Martyr, 
Calvin,  held  similar  language.  '  In  some  of  the  Scotch 
universities,  the  Aristotelian  system  was  discarded  for 
that  of  Ramus.  Thus,  before  the  birth  of  Bacon,  the 
empire  of  the  scholastic  philosophy  had  been  shaken  to 
its  foundations.  There  was  in  the  intellectual  world 
an  anarchy  resembling  that  which  in  the  political 
world  often  follows  the  overthrow  of  an  old  and  deeply 
rooted  government.  Antiquity,  prescription,  the  sound 
of  great  names,  had  ceased  to  awe  mankind.  The 
dynasty  which  had  reigned  for  ages  was  at  an  end ;  and 
ihe  vacant  throne  was  left  to  be  struggled  for  by  pre- 
tenders. 


LORD  BACON.  447 

The  first  effect  of  this  great  revolution,  was,  as ' 
Bacon  most  justly  observed,1  to  give  for  a  time  an 
undue  importance  to  the  mere  graces  of  style.  The 
new  breed  of  scholars,  the  Aschams  and  Buchanans, 
nourished  with  the  finest  compositions  of  the  Augus- 
tan age,  regarded  with  loathing  the  dry,  crabbed,  and 
barbarous  diction  of  respondents  and  opponents.  They 
were  far  less  studious  about  the  matter  of  their  writing 
than  about  the  manner.  They  succeeded  in  reforming 
Latinity ;  but  they  never  even  aspired  to  effect  a 
reform  in  philosophy. 

At  this  time  Bacon  appeared.  It  is  altogether  in- 
correct to  say,  as  has  often  been  said,  that  he  was  the 
first  man  who  rose  up  against  the  Aristotelian  philos- 
ophy when  in  the  height  of  its  power.  The  au- 
thority of  that  philosophy  had,  as  we  have  shown, 
received  a  fatal  blow  long  before  he  was  born.  Sev- 
eral speculators,  among  whom  Ramus  is  the  best 
known,  had  recently  attempted  to  form  new  sects. 
Bacon's  own  expressions  about  the  state  of  public 
opinion  in  the  time  of  Luther  are  clear  and  strong : 
*'  Accedebat,"  says  he,  "  odium  et  contemptus,  illis 
ipsis  temporibus  ortus  erga  Scholasticos."  And  again, 
"  Scholasticorum  doctrina  despectui  prorsus  haberi 
coepit  tanquam  aspera  et  barbara."  2  The  part  which 
Bacon  played  in  this  great  change  was  the  part,  net 
of  Robespierre,  but  of  Bonaparte.  The  ancient  order 
of  things  had  been  subverted.  Some  bigots  still 
cherished  with  devoted  loyalty  the  remembrance  of 
the  fallen  monarchy  and  exerted  themselves  to  effect 
a  restoration.  But  the  majority  had  no  such  feeling, 
Freed,  yet  not  knowing  how  to  use  their  freedom, 

1  De  Augmenlis,  Lib.  1. 

*  Both  these  passages  are  in  the  first  book  of  the  De  Augnuittis. 


448  LORD  BACON. 

.  they  pursued  no  determinate  course,  and  had  ibund 
no  leader  capable  of  conducting  them. 

That  leader  at  length  arose.  The  philosophy  which 
he  taught  was  essentially  new.  It  differed  from  that 
of  the  celebrated  ancient  teachers,  not  merely  in 
method,  but  also  in  object.  Its  object  was  the  good 
of  mankind,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  mass  of  mankind 
always  have  understood  and  always  will  understand 
the  word  good.  "  Meditor,"  said  Bacon,  "  instaura- 
tionem  philosophise  cjusmodi  qua3  nihil  inanis  aut  ab- 
stracti  habeat,  quosque  vitae  humanas  conditioncs  in 
mehus  provehat."1 

The  difference  between  the  philosophy  of  Bacon 
and  that  of  his  predecessors  cannot,  we  think,  be 
better  illustrated  than  by  comparing  his  views  on  some 
important  subjects  with  those  of  Plato.  We  select 
Plato,  because  we  conceive  that  he  did  more  than  any 
other  person  towards  giving  to  the  minds  of  specu- 
lative men  that  bent  which  they  retained  till  they 
received  from  Bacon  a  new  impulse  in  a  diametrically 
opposite  direction. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  differently  these  great 
men  estimated  the  value  of  every  kind  of  knowledge. 
Take  Arithmetic  for  example.  Plato,  after  speaking 
slightly  of  the  convenience  of  being  able  to  reckon 
,  and  compute  in  the  ordinary  transactions  of  life, 
passes  to  what  he  considers  as  a  far  more  important 
advantage.  The  study  of  the  properties  of  numbers, 
he  tells  us,  habituates  the  mind  to  the  contemplation 
of  pure  truth,  and  raises  us  above  the  material  uni- 
verse. He  would  have  his  disciples  apply  themselves 
to  this  study,  not  that  they  may  be  able  to  buy  or 
icll,  not  that  they  may  qualify  themselves  to  bo  shop 
1  Jtedarguiio  PhilosoDhiarum. 


LORD  BACO^.  4-49 

Keepers  or  travelling  merchants,  but  that  they  may 
learn  to  withdraw  their  minds  from  the  ever-shifting 

o 

spectacle  of  this  visible  and  tangible  world,  and  to  fix 
them  on  the  immutable  essences  of  things.1 

Bacon,  on  the  other  hand,  valued  this  branch  of 
knowledge,  only  on  account  of  its  uses  with  reference 
to  that  visible  and  tangible  world  which  Plato  so  much 
despised.  He  speaks  with  scorn  of  the  mystical  arith- 
metic of  the  later  Platonists,  and  laments  the  propen- 
sity of  mankind  to  employ,  on  mere  mutters  of  curios- 
ity, powers  the  whole  exertion  of  which  is  required  for 
purposes  of  solid  advantage.  He  advises  arithmeti- 
cians to  leave  these  trifles,  and  to  employ  themselves 
in  framing  convenient  expressions,  which  may  be  of 
use  in  physical  researches.2 

The  same  reasons  which  led  Plato  to  recommend  the 
study  of  arithmetic  led  him  to  recommend  also  the 
study  of  mathematics.  The  vulgar  crowd  of  geometri- 
cians, he  says,  will  not  understand  him.  They  have 
practice  always  in  view.  They  do  not  know  that  the 
real  use  of  the  science  is  to  lead  men  to  the  knowledge 
of  abstract,  essential,  eternal  truth.3  Indeed,  if  we 
are  to  believe  Plutarch,  Plato  carried  this  feeling  so  far 
that  he  considered  geometry  as  degraded  by  being 
applied  to  any  purpose  of  vulgar  utility.  Archytas,  it 
seems,  had  framed  machines  of  extraordinary  power  on 
mathematical  principles.4  Plato  remonstrated  with  his 
friend,  and  declared  that  this  was  to  degrade  a  noble 
intellectual  exercise  into  a  low  craft,  fit  only  for  car- 
penters and  wheelwrights.  The  office  of  geometry,  he 

1  Plato's  Republic,  Book  7.  -  Da  Augmentis,  Lib.  8.  Cap.  6. 

8  Plato's  Republic,  Book  7. 

«  Plutarch,   Sympos.  viii.  and  Life  of  Marcellut.     The  machines  <x 
Archytas  are  also  mentioned  by  Aulus  Gellius  and  Diogenes  Laertius. 


i50  LORD  BACOX. 

said,  was  to  discipline  the  mind,  not  to  minister  to  the 
base  wants  of  the  body.  His  interference  was  success- 
fill;  and  from  that  time,  according  to  Plutarch,  the 
science  of  mechanics  was  considered  as  unworthy  of 
the  attention  of  a  philosopher. 

Archimedes  in  a  later  age  imitated  and  surpassed 
Archytas.  But  even  Archimedes  was  not  free  from 
the  prevailing  notion  that  geometry  was  degraded  by 
being  employed  to  produce  any  thing  useful.  It  was 
•with  difficulty  that  he  was  induced  to  stoop  from  spec- 
ulation to  practice.  He  was  half  ashamed  of  those 
inventions  which  were  the  wonder  of  hostile  nations, 
and  always  spoke  of  them  slightingly  as  mere  amuse- 
ments, as  trifles  in  which  a  mathematician  might  be 

7  O 

suffered  to  relax  his  mind  after  intense  application  to 
the  higher  parts  of  his  science. 

The  opinion  of  Bacon  on  this  subject  was  diametri- 
cally opposed  to  that  of  the  ancient  philosophers. 
He  valued  geometry  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  on  account 
of  those  uses,  which  to  Plato  appeared  so  base.  And 
it  is  remarkable  that  the  longer  Bacon  lived  the 
stronger  this  feeling  became.  When  in  1605  he 
wrote  the  two  books  on  the  Advancement  of  Learn- 
ing, he  dwelt  on  the  advantages  which  mankind  de- 
rived from  mixed  mathematics ;  but  he  at  the  same 
time  admitted  that  the  beneficial  effect  produced  by 
mathematical  study  on  the  intellect,  though  a  collateral 
advantage,  was  "  no  less  worthy  than  that  which  was 
principal  and  intended."  But  it  is  evident  that  his 
viewrs  underwent  a  change.  When,  near  twenty  years 
later,  he  published  the  De  Au (/mentis,  which  is  the 
Treatise  on  the  Advancement  of  Learning,  greatly 
expanded  and  carefully  corrected,  he  made  important 
alterations  in  the  part  which  related  to  mathematics, 


LORD  BACON.  451 

He  condemned  with  severity  the  high  pretensions  of 
the  mathematicians,  "  delicias  et  fastum  mathemati- 
corura."  Assuming  the  well-being  of  the  human  race 

O  ,  O 

to  be  the  end  of  knowledge,1  he  pronounced  that  math- 
ematical science  could  claim  no  higher  rank  than  that 
of  an  appendage'  or  an  auxiliary  to  other  sciences. 
Mathematical  science,  he  says,  is  the  handmaid  of  nat- 
ural philosophy ;  she  ought  to  demean  herself  as  such  ; 
and  he  declares  that  he  cannot  conceive  by  what  ill 
chance  it  has  happened  that  she  presumes  to  claim  pre- 
cedence over  her  mistress.  He  predicts  —  a  prediction 
which  would  have  made  Plato  shudder — that  as  more 
and  more  discoveries  are  made  in  physics,  there  will  be 
more  and  more  branches  of  mixed  mathematics.  Of  that 
collateral  advantage  the  value  of  which,  twenty  years  be- 
fore, he  rated  so  highly,  he  says  not  one  word.  This  omis- 
sion cannot  have  been  the  effect  of  mere  inadvertence. 
His  own  treatise  was  before  him.  From  that  treatise 
lie  deliberately  expunged  whatever  was  favourable  to 
the  study  of  pure  mathematics,  and  inserted  several 
keen  reflections  on  the  ardent  votaries  of  that  study. 
This  fact,  in  our  opinion,  admits  of  only  one  explana- 
tion. Bacon's  love  of  those  pursuits  which  directly 
tend  to  improve  the  condition  of  mankind,  and  his  jeal- 
ousy of  all  pursuits  merely  curious,  had  grown  upon 
him,  and  had,  it  may  be,  become  immoderate.  He  was 
afraid  of  using  any  expression  which  might  have  the 
Bffect  of  inducing  any  man  of  talents  to  employ  in  spec- 
ulations, useful  only  to  the  mind  of  the  speculator,  a 
single  hour  which  might  be  employed  in  extending  the 
Empire  of  man  over  matter.2  If  Bacon  erred  here,  we 

1  Usni  et  commodis  hominum  consulimus. 

2  Compare  the  passage  relating  to  mathematics  in  the  Second  Book  of 
be  Advancement  of  Learning,  with  the  De  Augmenlis,  Lib.  3.  Oip.  6. 


(52  LORD    3ACON. 

must  acknowledge  that  we  greatly  prefer  his  error  to 
the  opposite  error  of  Plato.  We  have  nojatience  with 
a  philosophy  which,  like  those  Roman  matrons  who 
swallowed  abortives  in  order  to  preserve  their  shapes, 
takes  pains  to  be  barren  for  fear  of  being  homely. 

Let  us  pass  to  astronomy.  This  was  one  of  the 
sciences  which  Plato  exhorted  his  disciples  to  learn,  but 
for  reasons  far  removed  from  common  habits  of  think- 
ing. "  Shall  we  set  down  astronomy,"  says  Socrates, 
" among  the  subjects  of  study  ?" x  "I  think  so,"  an- 
swers his  young  friend  Glaucon :  "  to  know  something 
about  the  seasons,  the  months,  and  the  years  is  of  use 
for  military  purposes,  as  well  as  for  agriculture  and 
navigation."  "  It  amuses  me,"  says  Socrates,  "  to  see 
how  afraid  you  are,  lest  the  common  herd  of  people 
should  accuse  you  of  recommending  useless  studies." 
He  then  proceeds,  in  that  puKe  and  magnificent  diction 
which,  as  Cicero  said,  Jupiter  would  use  if  Jupiter 
spoke  Greek,  to  explain  that  the  use  of  astronomy  is 
not  to  add  to  the  vulgar  comforts  of  life,  but  to  assist 
in  raising  the  mind  to  the  contemplation  of  things  which 
are  to  be  perceived  by  the  pure  intellect  alone.  The 
knowledge  of  the  actual  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies 
Socrates  considers  as  of  little  value.  The  appearances 
which  make  the  sky  beautiful  at  night  are,  he  tells  us, 
like  the  figures  which  a  geometrician  draws  on  the 
sand,  mere  examples,  mere  helps  to  feeble  minds.  We 
must  get  beyond  them  ;  we  must  neglect  them  ;  we 

«/ 

aiust  attain  to  an  astronomy  which  is  as  independent  of 
the  actual  stars  as  geometrical  truth  is  independent  of 
the  lines  of  an  ill-drawn  diagram.  This  is,  we  imagine, 
fery  nearly,  if  not  exactly,  the  astronomy  wliich  BacoE 

1  Plato's  Republic,  Book  7. 


LORD  BACON.  453 

compared  to  the  ox  of  Prometheus,1  a  sleek,  well- 
shaped  hide,  stuffed  with  rubbish,  goodly  to  look  at, 
but  containing  nothing  to  eat.  He  complained  thai 
astronomy  had,  to  its  g^eat  injury,  been  separated  from 
natural  philosophy,  of  which  it  was  one  of  the  noblest 
provinces,  and  annexed  to  the  domain  of  mathematics. 
The  world  stood  in  need,  he  said,  of  a  very  different 
astronomy,  of  a  living  astronomy,2  of  an  astronomy 
which  should  set  forth  the  nature,  the  motion,  and  the 
influences  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  as  they  really  are.3 

On  the  greatest  and  most  useful  of  all  human  inven- 
tions, the  invention  of  alphabetical  writing,  Plato  did 
not  look  with  much  complacency.  He  seems  to  have 
thought  that  the  use  of  letters  had  operated  on  the  hu- 
man mind  as  the  use  of  the  go-cart  in  learning  to  walk, 
or  of  corks  in  learning  to  swim,  is  said  to  operate  on  the 
human  body.  It  was  a  support  which,  in  his  opinion, 
Boon  became  indispensable  to  those  who  used  it,  which 
made  vigorous  exertion  first  unnecessary  and  then  im- 
possible. The  powers  of  the  intellect  would,  he  con- 
ceived, have  been  more  fully  developed  without  this 
delusive  aid.  Men  would  have  been  compelled  to  ex- 
ercise the  understanding  and  the  memory,  and,  by  deep 
and  assiduous  meditation,  to  make  truth  thoroughly 
their  own.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  much  knowledge  is 
traced  on  paper,  but  little  is  engraved  in  the  soul.  A 
man  is  certain  that  he  can  find  information  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  when  he  wants  it.  He  therefore  suffers 
it  to  fade  from  his  mind.  Such  a  man  cannot  in  strict- 


1  De  Auyincntls,  Lib.  3.  Cap.  4. 

2  Astronomia  viva. 

•"  Quse  substantiam  ct  motum  et  influxnm  coelestium,  prout  re  vera 
Tint  proponat."    Compare  this  language  with  Plato's,  "  TU  6'  iv  rift  cvpavf 


454  •        LORD  BACON. 

ness  be  said  to  know  any  tiling.  He  has  the  shcrw 
without  the  reality  of  wisdom.  These  opinions  Pluto 
has  put  into  the  mouth  of  an  ancient  king  of  Egypt.1 
But  it  is  evident  from  the  context  that  they  were  hig 
own  ;  and  so  they  were  understood  to  be  by  Quinctil- 
ian.2  Indeed  they  are  in  perfect  accordance  with  the 
whole  Platonic  system. 

Bacon's  views,  as  may  easily  be  supposed,  were  widely 
different.3  The  powers  of  the  memory,  he  observes, 
without  the  help  of  writing,  can  do  little  towards  the 
advancement  of  any  useful  science.  He  acknowledges 
that  the  memory  may  be  disciplined  to  such  a  point  as 
to  be  able  to  perform  very  extraordinary  feats.  But 
on  such  feats  he  sets  little  value.  The  habits  of  his 
mind,  he  tells  us,  are  such  that  he  is  not  disposed  to 
rate  highly  any  accomplishment,  however  rare,  which 
is  of  no  practical  use  to  mankind.  As  to  these  prodig- 
ious achievements  of  the  memory,  he  ranks  them  with 
the  exhibitions  of  rope-dancers  and  tumblers.  "  The 
two  performances,"  he  says,  "  are  of  much  the  same 
sort.  The  one  is  an  abuse  of  the  powers  of  the  body  ; 
the  other  is  an  abuse  of  the  powers  of  the  mind.  Both 
may  perhaps  excite  our  wonder  ;  but  neither  is  entitled 
to  our  respect." 

To  Plato,  the  science  of  medicine  appeared  to  be  of 
very  disputable  advantage.4  He  did  not  indeed  ob- 
ject to  quick  cures  for  acute  disorders,  or  for  injuries 
produced  by  accidents.  But  the  art  which  resists  the 
alow  sap  of  a  chronic  disease,  which  repairs  frames  en- 
ervated by  lust,  swollen  by  gluttony,  or  inflamed  by 
wine,  which  encourages  sensuality "  by  mitigating  the 
natural  punishment  of  the  sensualist,  and  prolongs  ex- 

i  Plato's  PktEdrus.  *  Quinctilian,  XI. 

*£«  Augmentis,  Lib.  6.  Cap.  6.  *  Plato's  Republic^  Book  3. 


LOKD  BACON.  455 

Utence  when  the  intellect  lias  ceased  to  retain  its  en  tire 
energy,,  had  no  share  of  his  esteem.  A  life  protracted 
by  medical  skill  he  pronounced  to  be  a  long  death. 
The  existence  of  the  art  of  medicine  ought,  he  said,  to 
be  tolerated,  so  far  as  that  art  may  serve  to  cure  the  oc- 
casional distempers  of  men  whose  constitutions  are  good. 
As  to  those  who  have  bad  constitutions,  let  them  die  ; 
and  the  sooner  the  better.  Such  men  are  unfit  for  war, 
for  magistracy,  for  the  management  of  their  domestic 
affairs,  for  severe  study  and  speculation.  If  they  en- 
gage in  any  vigorous  mental  exercise,  they  are  troubled 
with  giddiness  and  fulness  of  the  head,  all  which  they 
fay  to  the  account  of  philosophy.  The  best  thing  that 
can  happen  to  such  wretches  is  to  have  done  with  life 
at  once.  He  quotes  mythical  authority  in  support  of 
this  doctrine  ;  and  reminds  his  disciples  that  the  prac- 
tice of  the  sons  of  ^Esculapius,  as  described  by  Homer, 
extended  only  to  the  cure  of  external  injuries. 

Far  different  was  the  philosophy  of  Bacon.  Of  all 
the  sciences,  that  which  he  seems  to  have  regarded  with 
the  greatest  interest  was.  the  science  which,  in  Plato's 
opinion,  would  not  be  tolerated  in  a  well  regulated 
Community.  To  make  men  perfect  was  no  part  of 
Bacon's  plan.  His  humble  aim  was  to  make  imperfect 
men  comfortable.  The  beneficence  of  his  philosophy 
resembled  the  beneficence  of  the  common  Father, 
whose  sun  rises  on  the  evil  and  the  good,  whose  rain 
descends  for  the  just  and  the  unjust.  In  Plato's  opin- 
»OTI  man  was  made  for  philosophy;  in  Bacon's  opinion 
philosophy  was  made  for  man ;  it  was  a  means  to  an 
end  ;  and  that  end  was  to  increase  the  pleasures  and  to 
nijgate  the  pains  of  millions  who  are  not  and  cannot 
be  philosophers.  That  a  valetudinarian  who  took  great 
oleasure  in  being  wheeled  along  his  teiTace,  who  relished 


456  LORD  BACON. 

his  boiled  chicken  and  his  weak  wine  and  water,  and 
who  enjoyed  a  hearty  laugh  over  the  Queen  cf  Na- 
varre's tales,  should  be  treated  as  a  caput  lupinum  be- 
cause he  could  not  read  the  Timrcus  without  a  headache, 
was  a  notion  which  the  humane  spirit  of  the  English 
school  of  wisdom  altogether  rejected.  Bacon  would 
not  have  thought  it  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  philosopher 
to  contrive  an  improved  garden  chair  for  such  a  vale- 
tudinarian, to  devise  some  way  of  rendering  his  medi- 
cines more  palatable,  to  invent  repasts  which  he  might 
enjoy,  and  pillows  on  which  he  might  sleep  soundly ; 
and  this  though  there  might  not  be  the  smallest  hope 
that  the  mind  of  the  poor  invalid  would  ever  rise  to  the 
contemplation  of  the  ideal  beautiful  and  the  ideal  good. 
As  Plato  had  cited  the  religious  legends  of  Greece  to 
justify  his  contempt  for  the  more  recondite  parts  of  the 
art  of  healing,  Bacon  vindicated  the  dignity  of  that  art 
by  appealing  to  the  example  of  Christ,  and  reminded 
men  that  the  great  Physician  of  the  soul  did  not  disdain 
to  be  also  the  physician  of  the  body.1 

When  we  pass  from  the  science  of  medicine  to  that 
of  legislation,  we  find  the  same  difference  between  the 
systems  of  these  two  great  men.  Plato,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Dialogue  on  Laws,  lays  it  down  as  a 
fundamental  principle  that  the  end  of  legislation  is  to 
make  men  virtuous.  It  is  unnecessary  to  point  out  the 
extravagant  conclusions  to  which  such  a  proposition 
leads.  Bacon  well  knew  to  how  great  an  extent  the 
happiness  of  every  society  must  depend  on  the  virtue 
«f  its  members  ;  and  he  also  knew  what  legislators  car 
and  what  they  cannot  do  for  the  purpose  of  promoting 
virtue.  The  view  which  he  has  given  of  the  end  of 

1  De,  Augmtntii,  Lib.  4.  Cap.  2. 


LORD  BACON.  45  / 

egislation,  and  of  the  principal  means  for  the  attain 
ment  of  that  end,  has  always  seemed  to  us  eminently 
happy,  even  among  the  many  happy  passages  of  the 
same  kind  with  which  his  works  abound.  "  Finis  et 
scopus  quern  leges  intueri  atque  ad  quern  jussiones  et 
sanctiones  suas  dirigere  debent,  non  alius  est  quam  ut 
cives  feliciter  degant.  Id  fiet  si  pietate  et  religione 
recte  instituti,  moribus  honesti,  armis  adversus  hostes 
externos  tuti,  legum  auxilio  adversus  seditiones  et  pri- 
vatas  injurias  muniti,  imperio  et  magistratibus  obse- 
quentes,  copiis  et  opibus  locupletes  et  florentes  fuennt."1 
The  end  is  the  well-being  of  the  people.  The  means 
are  the  imparting  of  moral  and  religious  education  ;  the 
providing  of  every  thing  necessary  for  defence  against 
foreign  enemies  ;  the  maintaining  of  internal  order ;  the 
establishing  of  a  judicial,  financial,  and  commercial  sys- 
tem, under  which  wealth  may  be  rapidly  accumulated 
and  securely  enjoyed. 

Even  writh  respect  to  the  form  in  which  laws  ought 
to  be  drawn,  there  is  a  remarkable  difference  of  opinion 
between  the  Greek  and  the  Englishman.  Plato 
thought  a  preamble  essential ;  Bacon  thought  it  mis- 
chievous. Each  was  consistent  with  himself.  Plato, 
considering  the  moral  improvement  of  the  people  as  the 
end  of  legislation,  justly  inferred  that  a  law  which  com- 
manded and  threatened,  but  which  neither  convinced 
the  reason,  nor  touched  the  heart,  must  be  a  most  im- 
perfect law.  He  was  not  content  with  deterring  from 
theft  a  man  who  still  continued  to  be  a  thief  at  heart, 
with  restraining  a  son  who  hated  his  mother  from  beat- 
ing his  mother.  The  only  obedience  on  which  he  set 
much  value  was  the  obedience  which  an  enlightened 

1  Dt  Augmentis,  Lib.  8.  Cap.  3.  Aph.  6. 
VOL.  ni.  20 


458  LORD  BACOS. 

understanding  yields  to  reason,  and  which  a  virtuous 
disposition  yields  to  precepts  of  virtue.  He  really 
seems  to  have  believed  that,  by  prefixing  to  every  law 
an  eloquent  and  pathetic  exhortation,  lie  should,  to  a 
great  extent,  render  penal  enactments  superfluous. 
Bacon  entertained  no  such  romantic  hopes ;  and  he 
well  knew  the  practical  inconveniences  of  the  course 
which  Plato  recommended.  "  Neque  nobis,"  says  he, 
"  prologi  legum  qui  inepti  olim  habiti  sunt,  et  leges  in- 
troducunt  disputantes  non  jubentes,  utique  placerent,  si 

priscos  mores  ferre  possemus Quantum  fieri  po- 

test  prologi  evitentur,  et  lex  incipiat  a  jussione."  1 

Each  of  the  great  men  whom  we  have  compared  in- 
tended to  illustrate  his  system  by  a  philosophical  ro- 
mance ;  and  each  left  his  romance  imperfect.  Had 
Plato  lived  to  finish  the  Critias,  a  comparison  between 
that  noble  fiction  and  the  new  Atlantis  would  probably 
have  furnished  us  with  still  more  striking  instances  than 
any  which  we  have  given.  It  is  amusing  to  think  with 
what  horror  he  would  have  seen  such  an  institution  as 
Solomon's  House  rising  in  his  republic  :  with  what  ve- 
hemence he  would  have  ordered  the  brewhouses,  the 
perfume-houses,  and  the  dispensatories  to  be  pulled 
down  ;  and  with  what  inexorable  rigour  he  would  have 
driven  beyond  the  frontier  all  the  Fellows  of  the  Col- 
lege, Merchants  of  Light  and  Depredators,  Lamps  and 
Pioneers. 

To  sum  up  the  whole,  we  should  say  that  the  aim  of 
the  Platonic  philosophy  was  to  exalt  man  into  a  god. 
The  aim  of  the  Baconian  philosophy  was  to  provide 
man  with  what  he  requires  while  he  continues  to  be 
tnan.  The  aim  of  the  Platonic  philosophy  was  to  rnise 

1  De  Avgmentis,  Lib.  8.  Cap.  3.  Aph.  69. 


LORD  BACOtf.  459 

ns  far  above  vulgar  wants.  The  aim  of  the  Baconian 
philosophy  was  to  supply  our  vulgar  wants.  The 
former  aim  \vas  noble  ;  but  the  latter  was  attainable. 
Plato  drew  a  good  bow  ;  but,  like  Acestes  in  Virgil,  he 
aimed  at  the  stars  ;  and  therefore,  though  there  was 
no  want  of  strength  or  skill,  the  shot  was  thrown  away. 
His  arrow  was  indeed  followed  by  a  track  of  dazzling 
radiance,  but  it  struck  nothing. 

"  Volans  liquidis  in  nubibus  arsit  arundo 
Signavitque  viam  tiummis,  tenuisque  recessit 
Cousumpta  in  ventos." 

Bacon  fixed  his  eye  on  a  mark  which  was  placed  on 
the  earth,  and  within  bow-shot,  and  hit  it  in  the  white. 
The  philosophy  of  Plato  began  in  words  and  ended  in 
words,  noble  words  indeed,  words  such  as  were  to  be 
expected  from  the  finest  of  human  intellects  exercising 
boundless  dominion  over  the  finest  of  human  languages. 
The  philosophy  of  Bacon  began  in  observations  and 
ended  in  arts. 

The  boast  of  the  ancient  philosophers  was  that  their 
doctrine  formed  the  minds  of  men  to  a  high  degree  of 
wisdom  and  virtue.  This  was  indeed  the  only  practi- 
cal good  which  the  most  celebrated  of  those  teachers 
even  pretended  to  effect ;  and  undoubtedly,  if  they 
had  effected  this,  they  would  have  deserved  far  higher 
praise  than  if  they  hud  discovered  the  most  salutary 
medicines  or  constructed  the  most  powerful  machines. 
But  the  truth  is  that,  in  those  very  matters  in  which 
alone  they  professed  to  /lo  any  good  to  mankind,  in 
those  very  matters  for  the  sake  of  which  they  neglected 
vll  the  vulgar  interests  of  mankind,  they  did  nothing, 
or  worse  than  nothing.  They  promised  what  was  im- 
practicable ;  they  despised  what  was  practicable  ;  they 


ib'O  LORD  BACON. 

filled  the  world  with  long  words  ana  jbng  beards ;  and 
they  left  it  as  wicked  and  as  ignorant  as  they  found  it. 
An  acre  in  Middlesex  is  better  than  a  principality 
in  Utopia.  The  smaEest  actual  good  is  better  than 
the  most  magnificent  promises  of  impossibilities.  The 
wise  man  of  the  Stoics  wouh\  no  doubt,  be  a  grander 
object  than  a  steam-engine.  But  there  are  steam- 
engines.  And  the  wise  man  of  the  Stoics  is  yet  to  be 
born.  A  philosophy  which  should  enable  a  man  to 
feel  perfectly  happy  while  in  agonies  of  pain  would  be 
better  than  a  philosophy  which  assuages  pain.  But  we 
know  that  there  are  remedies  which  will  assuage  pain  ; 
and  we  know  that  the  ancient  sages  liked  the  tooth- 
ache just  as  little  as  their  neighbours.  A  philosophy 
which  should  extinguish  cupidity  would  be  better 
than  a  philosophy  which  should  devise  laws  for  the 
security  of  property.  But  it  is  possible  to  make  laws 
winch  shall,  to  a  very  great  extent,  secure  property. 
And  we  do  not  understand  how  any  motives  which 
the  ancient  philosophy  furnished  could  extinguish  cu- 
pidity. We  know  indeed  that  the  philosophers  were 
no  better  than  other  men.  From  the  testimony  of 
friends  as  well  as  of  foes,  from  the  confessions  of 
Epictetus  and  Seneca,  as  well  as  from  the  sneers  of 
kucian  and  the  fierce  invectives  of  Juvenal,  it  is  plain 
that  these  teachers  of  virtue  had  all  the  vices  of  their 
neighbours,  with  the  additional  vice  of  hypocrisy. 
Some  people  may  think  the  object  of  the  Baconian 
philosophy  a  low  object,  but  they  cannot  deny  that, 
high  or  low,  it  has  been  attained.  They  cannot  deny 
that  every  year  makes  an  addition  to  what  Bacon 
called  "  fruit."  They  cannot  deny  that  mankind  havo 
Saade,  and  are  making,  great  and  constant  progress 
in  the  road  which  he  pointed  cut  to  them.  Was 


LORD  BACON.  461 

[here  any  sucli  progressive  movement  among  th« 
ancient  philosophers  ?  After  they  had  been  declaim- 
ing eight  hundred  years,  had  they  made  the  world 
better  than  when  they  began  ?  Our  belief  is  that, 
among  the  philosophers  themselves,  instead  of  a  pro- 
gressive improvement  there  was  a  progressive  degen- 
eracy. An  abject  superstition  which  Democritus  or 
Anaxagoras  would  have  rejected  with  scorn  added 
the  last  disgrace  to  the  long  dotage  of  the  Stoic  and 
Platonic  schools.  Those  unsuccessful  attempts  to 
articulate  which  are  so  delightful  and  interesting  in  a 
child  shock  and  disgust  us  in  an  aged  paralytic ;  and 
in  the  same  way,  those  wild  mythological  fictions  which 
charm  us,  when  we  hear  them  lisped  by  Greek  poetry 
in  its  infancy,  excite  a  mixed  sensation  of  pity  and 
loathing,  when  mumbled  by  Greek  philosophy  in  its 
old  age.  We  know  that  guns,  cutlery,  spy-glasses, 
clocks,  are  better  in  our  time  than  they  were  in  the 
time  of  our  fathers,  and  were  better  in  the  time  of  our 
fathers  than  they  were  in  the  time  of  our  grandfathers. 
We  might,  therefore,  be  inclined  to  think  tha*,  when 
a  philosophy  which  boasted  that  its  object  was,  the 
elevation  and  purification  of  the  mind,  and  which  for 
this  object  neglected  the  sordid  office  of  ministering 
to  the  comforts  of  the  body,  had  flourished  in  the 
highest  honour  during  many  hundreds  of  years,  a  vast 
moral  amelioration  must  lurre  taken  place.  Was  it 
BO  ?  Look  at  the  schools  of  this  wisdom  four  centu- 
ries before  the  Christian  era  and  four  centuries  after 
that  era.  Compare  the  men  whom  those  schools 
formed  at  those  two  periods.  Compare  Plato  and 
Libanius.  Compare  Pericles  and  Julian.  This  phi- 
losophy confessed,  nay  boasted,  that  for  every  end 
but  one  it  was  useless.  Had  it  attained  that  one. 
«nd? 


162  LORD  BACON. 

Suppose  that  Justinian,  when  he  closed  the  schools 
of  Athens,  had  called  on  the  last  few  sages  who  still 
haunted  the  Portico,  and  lingered  round  the  ancient 
plane-trees,  to  show  their  title  to  public  veneration  : 
suppose  that  he  had  said ;  "  A  thousand  years  have 
elapsed  since,  in  this  famous  city,  Socrates  posed  Prota- 
goras and  Hippias ;  during  those  thousand  years  a  large 
proportion  of  the  ablest  men  of  every  generation  has 
been  employed  in  constant  efforts  to  bring  to  perfection 
the  philosophy  which  you  teach ;  that  philosophy  has 
been  munificently  patronised  by  the  powerful ;  its  pro- 
fessors have  been  held  in  the  highest  esteem  by  the 
public ;  it  has  drawn  to  itself  almost  all  the  sap  and 
vigour  of  the  human  intellect :  and  what  has  it  effected  ? 
What  profitable  truth  has  it  taught  us  which  we  should 
not  equally  have  known  without  it?  What  has  it  ena- 
bled us  to  do  which  we  should  not  have  been  equally 
able  to  do  without  it?"  Such  questions,  we  suspect, 
would  have  puzzled  Simplicius  and  Isidore.  Ask  a  fol- 
lower of  Bacon  what  the  new  philosophy,  as  it  was 
called  in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second,  has  effected 
for  mankind,  and  his  answer  is  ready ;  "  It  has  length- 
ened life ;  it  has  mitigated  pain ;  it  has  extinguished 
diseases  ;  it  has  increased  the  fertility  of  the  soil ;  it  has 
given  new  securities  to  the  mariner ;  it  has  furnished 
new  arms  to  the  warrior ;  it  lias  spanned  great  rivers 
and  estuaries  with  bridges  of  form  unknown  to  our 
fathers ;  it  has  guided  the  thunderbolt  innocuously  from 
heaven  to  earth ;  it  has  lighted  up  the  night  with  the 
splendour  of  the  day ;  it  has  extended  the  range  of  the 
human  vision  ;  it  has  multiplied  the  power  of  the  human 
muscles ;  it  has  accelerated  motion ;  it  has  annihilated 
distance ;  it  has  facilitated  intercourse,  correspondence, 
ill  friendly  offices,  all  despatch  of  business ;  it  has  ena- 


LORD  BACON.  463 

bled  man  to  descend  to  the  depths  of  the  sea,  to  soar  into 
the  air,  to  penetrate  securely  into  the  noxious  recesses  of 
the  earth,  to  traverse  the  land  in  cars  which  whirl  along 
without  horses,  and  the  ocean  in  ships  which  run  ten 
knots  an  hour  against  the  wind.  These  are  but  a  part 
of  its  fruits,  and  of  its  first  fruits.  For  it  is  a  philosophy 
which  never  rests,  which  has  never  attained,  which  ia 
never  perfect.  Its  law  is  progress.  A  point  which  yes- 
terday was  invisible  is  its  goal  to-day,  and  will  be  its 
starting-post  to-morrow." 

Great  and  various  as  the  powers  of  Bacon  were,  he 
owes  his  wide  and  durable  fame  chiefly  to  this,  that  all 
those  powers  received  their  direction  from  common 
sense.  His  love  of  the  vulgar  useful,  his  strong  sym- 
pathy with  the  popular  notions  of  good  and  evil,  and 
the  openness  with  which  he  avowed  that  sympathy,  are 
the  secret  of  his  influence.  There  was  in  his  system 
no  cant,  no  illusion.  He  had  no  anointing  for  broken 
bones,  no  fine  theories  de  finibus,  no  arguments  to  per- 
suade men  out  of  their  senses.  He  knew  that  men,  and 
philosophers  as  well  as  other  men,  do  actually  love  life, 
health,  comfort,  honour,  security,  the  society  of  friends, 
and  do  actually  dislike  death,  sickness,  pain,  poverty, 
disgrace,  danger,  separation  from  those  to  whom  they 
are  attached.  He  knew  that  religion,  though  it  often 
regulates  and  moderates  these  feelings,  seldom  eradi- 
cates them  ;  nor  did  he  think  it  desirable  for  mankind 
that  they  should  be  eradicated.  The  plan  of  eradi- 
cating them  by  conceits  like  those  of  Seneca,  or  syllo- 
gisms like  those  of  Chrysippus,  was  too  preposterous  to 
be  for  a  moment  entertained  by  a  mind  like  his.  He 
did  not  understand  what  wisdom  there  could  be  in 
changing  names  where  it  was  impossible  to  change 
things ;  in  denying  that  blindness,  hunger,  the  gout, 


464  LORD  BACON. 

the  rack,  were  evils,  and  calling  them  anonQOifinna;  in 
refusing  to  acknowledge  that  health,  safety,  plenty, 
were  good  things,  and  dubbing  them  by  the  name  of 
ddtdcfooa.  In  his  opinions  on  all  these  subjects,  he  was 
not  a  Stoic,  nor  an  Epicurean,  nor  an  Academic,  but 
what  would  have  been  called  by  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and 
Academics  a  mere  iduazyg,  a  mere  common  man.  And 
it  was  precisely  because  he  was  so  that  his  name  makes 
«o  great  an  era  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  was  be- 
cause he  dug  deep  that  he  was  able  to  pile  high.  It  was 
because7,  in  order  to  lay  his  foundations,  he  went  down 
into  those  parts  of  human  nature  which  lie  low,  but 
which  are  not  liable  to  change,  that  the  fabric  which  lie 
reared  has  risen  to  so  stately  an  elevation,  and  stands 
with  such  immovable  strength. 

We  have  sometimes  thought  that  an  amusing  fiction 
might  be  written,  in  which  a  disciple  of  Epictetus  and  a 
disciple  of  Bacon  should  be  introduced  as  fellow-trav- 
ellers. They  come  to  a  village  where  the  small-pox 
has  just  begun  to  rage,  and  find  houses  shut  up,  inter- 
course suspended,  the  sick  abandoned,  mothers  weeping 
in  terror  over  their  children.  The  Stoic  assures  the 
dismayed  population  that  there  is  nothing  bad  in  the 
small-pox,  and  that  to  a  wise  man,  disease,  deformity, 
death,  the  loss  of  friends,  are  not  evils.  The  Baconian 
takes  out  a  lancet  and  begins  to  vaccinate.  They  find 
a  body  of  miners  in  great  dismay.  An  explosion  of 
noisome  vapoui'S  has  just  killed  many  of  those  who  were 
at  work ;  and  the  survivors  are  afraid  to  venture  into 
the  cavern.  The  Stoic  assures  them  that  such  an  acci- 
dent is  nothing  but  a  mere  dTronQoip/nevov.  The  Baconian, 
who  has  no  such  fine  word  at  his  command,  contents 
himself  with  devising  a  safety-lamp.  They  find  a 
shipwrecked  merchant  wringing  his  hands  on  the  shore. 


LORD  BACON.  463 

His  vessel  W-th  an  inestimable  cargo  lias  just  gone 
down,  and  hf  is  reduced  in  a  moment  from  opulence  to 
beggary.  Tne  Stoic  exhorts  him  not  to  seek  happiness 
in  things  which  lie  without  himself,  and  repeats  the 
whole  chapter  of  Epictetus  TtQog  IQV/S  T^V  catoQiav  dsdoi- 
XOTUZ.  The  Baconian  constructs  a  diving-bell,  goea 
down  in  it,  and  returns  with  the  most  precious  effects 
from  the  wreck.  It  would  be  easy  to  multiply  illustra- 
tions of  the  difference  between  the  philosophy  of  thorns 
and  the  philosophy  of  fruit,  the  philosophy  of  words 
and  the  philosophy  of  works. 

Bacon  has  been  accused  of  overrating  the  impor- 
tance of  those  sciences  which  minister  to  the  physical 
well-being  of  man,  and  of  underrating  the  importance 
of  moral  philosophy ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  per- 
sons who  read  the  Novum  Oryanum  and  the  De  Aug- 
mentiS)  without  adverting  to  the  circumstances  under 
which  those  works  were  written,  will  find  much  that 
may  seem  to  countenance  the  accusation.  It  is  certain, 
however,  that  though  in  practice  he  often  went  very 
wrong,  and  though,  as  his  historical  work  and  his 
essays  prove,  he  did  not  hold,  even  in  theory,  very 
strict  opinions  on  points  of  political  morality,  he  was 
far  too  wise  a  man  not  to  know  how  much  our  well- 
being  depends  on  the  regulation  of  our  minds.  The 
world  for  which  he  wished  was  not,  as  some  people 
seem  to  imagine,  a  world  of  water-wheels,  power- 
looms,  steam-carriages,  sensualists,  and  knaves.  He 
would  have  been  as  ready  as  Zeno  himself  to  main- 
tain that  no  bodily  comforts  which  could  be  devised 
bv  the  skill  and  labour  of  a  hundred  generations  would 

•/  O 

give  happiness  to  a  man  whose  mind  was  under  the 
tyranny  of  licentious  appetite,  of  envy,  of  hatred,  or  of 
If  he  sometimes  appeared  to  ascribe  impoi  tanco 


466  LORD  BACON. 

too  exclusively  to  the  arts  which  increase  the  outward 
comforts  of  our  species,  the  reason  is  plain  '  Those  arts 
had  been  most  unduly  depreciated.  They  had  been 
represented  as  unworthy  the  attention  of  a  man  of  lib- 
eral education.  "  Cogitavit,"  says  Bacon  of  himself, 
"  earn  esse  opinicmem  sive  aistimationem  humidam  et 
damnosam,  minui  nempe  majestatem  mentis  humanaj,  si 
in  experimentis  et  rebus  particular} bus,  sensui  subjectis, 
et  in  materia  terminatis,  diu  ac  multum  versetur :  prae- 
sertim  cum  hujusmodi  res  ad  inquirendum  laboriosas  ad 
meditandum  ignobiles,  ad  discendum  asperas,  ad  prac- 
ticam  illiberales,  iiumero  innnitre,  et  subtilitate  pusillaB 
videri  soleant,  et  ob  hujusmodi  conditiones,  gloriae 
artium  minus  sint  accommodate, "  l  This  opinion 
seemed  to  him  "  omnia  in  familia  humana  turbasse." 
It  had  undoubtedly  caused  many  arts  which  were  of 
the  greatest  utility,  and  which  were  susceptible  of  the 
greatest  improvements,  to  be  neglected  by  speculators, 
and,  abandoned  to  joiners,  masons,  smiths,  weavers, 
apothecaries.  It  was  necessary  to  assert  the  dignity  of 
those  arts,  to  bring  them  prominently  forward,  to  pro- 
claim that,  as  they  have  a  most  serious  effect  on  human 
happiness,  they  are  not  unworthy  of  the  attention  of 
the  highest  human  intellects.  Again,  it  was  by  illus- 
trations drawn  from  these  arts  that  Bacon  could  most 
easily  illustrate  his  principles.  It  was  by  improvements 
eiiecTtd  in  these  arts  that  the  soundness  of  his  princi- 
ples could  be  most  speedily  and  decisively  brought  to 
the  test,  and  made  manifest  to  common  understandings. 
Ho  acted  like  a  wise  commander  who  thins  every  other 

1  Coghnia  et  Fisci.  The  expression  opinio  humida  may  surprise  a  reader 
4dt  accustomed  to  Bacon's  style.  The  allusion  is  to  the  maxim  of  Hera- 
«3itns  the  obscure:  "  Dry  light  is  the  best."  By  dry  light,  Bacon  under- 
Itotxi  the  light  of  the  intellect,  not  obscured  by  the  mists  of  passion 
tnterost,  or  prejudice. 


LORD  BACON.  467 

part  of  his  lino  to  strengthen  a  point  where  the  enemy 
is  attacking  with  peculiar  fury,  and  on  the  fate  of  which 
the  event  of  the  battle  seems  likely  to  depend.  In  the 
Novum  Oryanum,  however,  he  distinctly  and  most 
truly  declares  that  his  philosophy  is  no  less  a  Moral 
than  a  Natural  Philosophy,  that,  though  his  illustra- 
tions are  drawn  from  physical  science,  the  principles 
which  those  illustrations  are  intended  to  explain  are 
just  as  applicable  to  ethical  and  political  inquiries  as  to 
inquiries  into  the  nature  of  heat  and  vegetation.1 

lie  frequently  treated  of  moral  subjects ;  and  he 
brought  to  those  subjects  that  spirit  which  was  the 
essence  of  his  whole  system.  He  has  left  us  many 
admirable  practicable  observations  011  what  he  some- 
what quaintly  called  the  Georgics  of  the  mind,  on  the 
mental  culture  which  tends  to  produce  good  disposi- 
tions. Some  persons,  he  said,  might  accuse  him  of 
spending  labour  on  a  matter  so  simple  that  his  prede- 
cessors had  passed  it  by  with  contempt.  He  desired 
such  persons  to  remember  that  he  had  from  the  first 
announced  the  objects  of  his  search  to  be  not  the  splen- 
did and  the  surprising,  but  the  useful  and  the  true,  not 
the  deluding  dreams  which  go  forth  through  the  shining 
portal  of  ivory,  but  the  humbler  realities  of  the  gate  of 
horn.2 

True  to  this  principle,  he  indulged  in  no  rants  about 
the  fitness  of  things,  the  all-sufficiency  of  virtue,  and 
the  dignity  of  human  nature.  He  dealt  not  at  all  in 
resounding  nothings,  such  as  those  with  which  Boling- 
broke  pretended  to  comfort  nimself  in  exile,  and  in 
which  Cicero  vainly  sought  consolation  after  the  loss  of 
Tullia.  The  casuistical  subtilties  which  occupied  the 

1  Novum  OrpOMM,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  127. 
1  De  Auymentis,  Lib.  7   Cap.  3. 


468  LORD  BACON. 

attention  of  the  keenest  spirits  of  his  age  had,  it  should 
seem,  no  attractions  for  him.  The  doctors  whom 
Escobar  afterwards  compared  to  the  four  beasts  and 
the  four-and-twenty  elders  in  the  Apocalypse  Bacon 
dismissed  with  most  contemptuous  brevity.  "Inanes 
plerumque  evadunt  et  futilcs."  1  Nor  did  he  ever  med- 
dle with  those  enigmas  which  have  puzzled  hundreds  of 
generations,  and  will  puzzle  hundreds  more.  He  said 
nothing  about  the  grounds  of  moral  obligation,  or  the 
freedom  of  the  human  will.  He  had  no  inclination  to 
employ  himself  in  labours  resembling  those  of  the 
damned  in  the  Grecian  Tartarus,  to  spin  for  ever  on  the 
same  wheel  round  the  same  pivot,  to  gape  for  ever  after 
the  same  deluding  clusters,  to  pour  water  for  ever  into 
the  same  bottomless  buckets,  to  pace  for  ever  to  and  fro 
on  the  same  wearisome  path  after  the  same  recoiling 
stone.  He  exhorted  his  disciples  to  prosecute  re- 
searches of  a  very  different  description,  to  consider 
moral  science  as  a  practical  science,  a  science  of  which 
the  object  was  to  cure  the  diseases  and  perturbations  of 
the  mind,  and  which  could  be  improved  only  by  a 
method  analogous  to  that  which  has  improved  medi-^ 
cine  and  surgery.  Moral  philosophers  ought,  he  said, 
to  set  themselves  vigorously  to  work  for  the  purpose  of 
discovering  what  are  the  actual  effects  produced  on  the 
human  character  by  particular  modes  of  education,  by 
the  indulgence  of  particular  habits,  by  the  study  of  par- 
ticular books,  by  society,  by  emulation,  by  imitation. 
Then  we  might  hope  to  find  out  what  mode  of  training 
was  most  likely  to  preserve  and  restore  moral  health.2 

What  he  was  as  a  natural  philosopher  and  a  moral 
philosopher,  that  he  was  also  as  a  theologian.     He  «*as 

*  ft.,  Lib.  7.  Cap.  2.  *  De  Augmentis,  Lib.  7.  Cap.  3. 


LORD  BACON.  469 

we  are  convinced,  a  sincere  believer  in  the  divine 
authority  of  the  Christian  revelation.  Nothing  can  bo 
found  in  his  writings,  or  in  any  other  writings,  more 
eloquent  and  pathetic  than  some  passages  which  were 
apparently  written  under  the  influence  of  strong  de- 
votional feeling.  He  loved  to  dwell  on  the  power  of 
the  Christian  religion  to  effect  much  that  the  ancient 
philosophers  could  only  promise.  He  loved  to  con- 
sider that  religion  as  the  bond  of  charity,  the  curb 
of  evil  passions,  the  consolation  of  the  wretched, 
the  support  of  the  timid,  the  hope  of  the  dying. 
But  controversies  on  speculative  points  of  theology 
seem  to  have  engaged  scarcely  any  portion  of  his 
attention.  In  what  he  wrote  on  Church  Govern- 
ment he  showed,  as  far  as  he  dared,  a  tolerant  and 
charitable  spirit.  He  troubled  himself  not  at  all  about 
Homoousians  and  Homoiousians,  Monothelites  and 
Nestorians.  He  lived  in  an  age  in  which  disputes  on 
the  most  subtle  points  of  divinity  excited  an  intense 
interest  throughout  Europe,  and  nowhere  more  than  in 
England.  He  was  placed  in  the  very  thick  of  the 
conflict.  He  was  in  power  at  the  time  of  the  Synod  of 
Dort,  and  must  for  months  have  been  daily  deafened 
with  talk  about  election,  reprobation,  and  final  perse- 
verance. Yet  we  do  not  remember  a  line  in  his  works 
from  which  it  can  be  inferred  that  he  was  either  a 
Calvinist  or  an  Anninian.  While  the  world  was 
resounding  with  the  noise  of  a  disputatious  philosophy 
and  a  disputatious  theology,  the  Baconian  school,  like 
Alworthy  seated  between  Square  and  Thwackum, 
preserved  a  calm  neutrality,  half  scornful,  half  benevo- 
.ent,  and,  content  with  adding  to  the  sum  of  practical 
good,  left  the  war  of  words  to  those  who  liked  it. 
We  have  dwelt  long  on  the  end  of  the  Baconian 


470  LORD  BACON. 

philosophy,  becausa  from  this  peculiarity  all  the  other  pe- 
culiarities of  that  philosophy  necessarily  arose.  Indeed, 
scarcely  any  person  who  proposed  to  himself  the  same 
end  with  Bacon  could  fail  to  hit  upon  the  same  means. 

The  vulgar  notion  about  Bacon  we  take  to  be  this, 
that  he  invented  a  new  method  of  arriving  at  truth, 
which  method  is  called  Induction,  and  that  he  detected 
some  fallacy  in  the  syllogistic  reasoning  which  had  been 
in  vogue  before  his  time.  This  notion  is  about  as  well 
founded  as  that  of  the  people  who,  in  the  middle  ages, 
imagined  that  Virgil  was  a  great  conjurer.  Many 
who  are  far  too  well  informed  to  talk  such  extravagant 
nonsense  entertain  what  AVC  think  incorrect  notions  as 
to  what  Bacon  really  effected  in  this  matter. 

The  inductive  method  has  been  practised  ever  since 
the  beginning  of  the  world  by  every  human  being.  It 
is  constantly  practised  by  the  most  ignorant  clown,  by 
the  most  thoughtless  schoolboy,  by  the  very  child  at 
the  breast.  That  method  leads  the  clown  to  the  con- 
clusion that  if  he  sows  barley  he  shall  not  reap  wheat. 
By  that  method  the  schoolboy  learns  that  a  cloudy  day 
is  the  best  for  catching  trout.  The  very  infant,  we 
imagine,  is  led  by  induction  to  expect  milk  from  his 
mother  or  nurse,  and  none  from  his  father. 

Not  only  is  it  not  true  that  Bacon  invented  the 
inductive  method ;  but  it  is  not  true  that  he  was  the 
first  person  wrho  correctly  analysed  that  method  and 
explained  its  uses.  Aristotle  had  long  before  pointed 
out  the  absurdity  of  supposing  that  syllogistic  reasoning 
enuld  ever  conduct  men  to  the  disc  rvery  of  any  new 
principle,  had  shown  that  such  discoveries  must  be 
made  by  induction,  and  by  induction  alone,  and  had 
given  the  history  of  the  inductive  process,  concisely 
mdeed  but  with  great  perspicuity  and  precision. 


LORD  BACON.  471 

Again,  we  are  not  inclined  to  ascribe  much  prac* 
lical  value  to  that  analysis  of  the  inductive  method 
which  Bacon  has  given  in  the  second  book  of  the 
Novurn  Organum.  It  is  indeed  an  elaborate  and  cor- 
rect analysis.  But  it  is  an  analysis  of  that  which  we 
are  all  doing  from  morning  to  night,  and  which  we 
continue  to  do  even  in  our  dreams.  A  plain  man  finds 
his  stomach  out  of  order.  He  never  heard  Lord  Ba- 
con's name.  But  he  proceeds  in  the  strictest  conform- 
ity with  the  rules  laid  down  in  the  second  book  of  the 
Novuin  Organum,  and  satisfies  himself  that  minced 
pies  have  done  the  mischief.  "  I  ate  minced  pies  on 
Monday  and  Wednesday,  and  I  was  kept  awake  by 
indigestion  all  night."  This  is  the  comparentia  ad  in- 
tellectum  instantiarum  convenientium.  "  I  did  not  eat 
any  on  Tuesday  and  Friday,  and  I  was  quite  well." 
This  is  the  comparentia  instantiarum  in  proximo  qucn 
natura  data  privantur.  "  I  ate  very  sparingly  of 
them  on  Sunday,  and  was  very  slightly  indisposed 
in  the  evening.  But  on  Christmas-day  I  almost  dined 
on  them,  and  was  so  ill  that  I  was  in  great  danger." 
This  is  the  comparentia  instantiarum  secundum  magis 
ct  minus.  "  It  cannot  have  been  the  brandy  which  I 
took  with  them.  For  I  have  drunk  brandy  daily  for 
years  without  being  the  worse  for  it."  This  is  the 
rejectio  naturarum.  Our  invalid  then  proceeds  to 
what  is  termed  by  Bacon  the  Vindemiatio,  and  pro- 
;ucunces  that  minced  pies  do  not  agree  with  him. 

We  repeat  that  we  dispute  neither  the  ingenuity 
nor  the  accuracy  of  the  theory  contained  in  the  second 
book  of  the  Novum  Organum  ;  but  we  think  that  Ba- 
con greatly  overrated  its  utility.  We  conceive  that 
the  inductive  process,  like  many  other  processes,  is  not 
likely  to  be  better  performed  merely  because  men  kno\f 


472  LORD  BACON. 

how  they  perform  it.  William  Tell  would  nut  have 
been  one  whit  more  likely  to  cleave  the  apple  if  he 
had  known  that  his  arrow  would  describe  a  parabola 
under  the  influence  of  the  attraction  of  the  earth. 
Captain  Barclay  would  not  have  been,  more  likely  to 
walk  a  thousand  miles  in  a  thousand  hours,  if  he  had 
known  the  place  and  name  of  every  muscle  in  his  legs. 
Monsieur  Jourdain  probably  did  not  pronounce  D  and 
F  more  correctly  after  he  had  been  apprised  that  D  is 
pronounced  by  touching  the  teeth  with  the  end  of  the 
tongue,  and  F  by  putting  the  upper  teeth  on  the  lower 
lip.  We  cannot  perceive  that  the  study  of  Grammar 
makes  the  smallest  difference  in  the  speech  of  people 
who  have  always  lived  in  good  society.  Not  one  Lon- 
doner in  ten  thousand  can  lay  down  the  rules  for  the 
proper  use  of  will  and  shall.  Yet  not  one  Londoner 
in  a  million  ever  misplaces  his  will  and  shall.  Doctor 
Robertson  could,  undoubtedly,  have  written  a  luminous 
dissertation  on  the  use  of  those  words.  Yet,  even  in  his 
latest  work,  he  sometimes  misplaced  them  ludicrously. 
No  man  uses  figures  of  speech  with  more  propriety  be- 
cause he  knows  that  one  figure  is  called  a  metonymy 
and  another  a  synecdoche.  A  drayman  in  a  passion 
calls  out,  "  You  are  a  pretty  fellow,"  without  suspecting 
that  he  is  uttering  irony,  and  that  irony  is  one  of  the  four 
primary  tropes.  The  old  systems  of  rhetoric  were  never 
regarded  by  the  most  experienced  and  discerning  judges 
as  of  any  use  for  the  purpose  of  forming  an  orator 
44  Ego  hanc  vim  intelligo,"  said  Cicero,  "  esse  in  prse- 
ceptis  omnibus,  non  ut  ea  secuti  oratores  eloquentias 
teudem  sint  adepti,  sed  qua3  sua  sponte  homines  elo- 
quentes  facerent,  ea  quosdam  observasse,  atque  id 
'egisse  ;  sic  esse  non  eloquentiam  ex  artificio,  sed  arti- 
fieium  ex  eloquentia  nutum."  We  must  own  that  w« 


LORD  BACON.  473 

entertain  the  same  opinion  concerning  the  study  of 
Logic  which  Cicero  entertained  concerning  the  study 
of  Rhetoric.  A  man  of  sense  syllogizes  in  eelarent 
and  sesare  all  day  long  without  suspecting  it ;  and, 
though  he  may  not  know  what  an  ignoratio  elencld  is, 
has  no  difficulty  in  exposing  it  whenever  he  falls  in 
with  it ;  which  is  likely  to  be  as  often  as  he  falls  in 
with  a  Reverend  Master  of  Arts  nourished  on  mode 
and  figure  in  the  cloisters  of  Oxford.  Considered 
merely  as  an  intellectual  feat,  the  Oryanum  of  Aris- 
totle can  scarcely  be  admired  too  highly.  But  the 
more  we  compare  individual  with  individual,  school 
with  school,  nation  with  nation,  generation  with  gen- 
eration, the  more  do  we  lean  to  the  opinion  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  theory  of  logic  has  no  tendency 
whatever  to  make  men  good  reasoners. 

What  Aristotle  did  for  the  syllogistic  process  Bacon 
has,  in  the  second  book  of  the  Novum  Organum, 
done  for  the  inductive  process ;  that  is  to  say,  he  has 
analysed  it  well.  His  rules  are  quite  proper ;  but  we 
do  not  need  them,  because  they  are  drawn  from  our 
own  constant  practice. 

But,  though  everybody  is  constantly  performing  the 
Urocess  described  in  the  second  book  of  the  Novum  Or- 
ganwm,  some  men  perform  it  well  and  some  perform 
it  ill.  Some  are  led  by  it  to  truth,  and  some  to  error. 
It  led  Franklin  to  discover  the  nature  of  lightning.  It 
led  thousands,  who  had  less  brains  than  Franklin,  to 
believe  in  animal  magnetism.  But  this  \vas  not  be- 
cause Franklin  went  through  the  process  described  by 
Bacon,  and  the  dupes  of  Mesmer  through  a  different 
process.  The  comparentice  and  rcjectiones  of  which  we 
have  given  examples  will  be  found  in  the  most  unsound 
inductions.  We  have  heard  that  an  eminent  judge  of 


474  LORD  BACON. 

•lie  last  generation  was  in  the  habit  of  jocosely  pro- 
pounding after  dinner  a  theory,  that  the  cause  of  the 
prevalence  of  Jacobinism  was  the  practice  of  bearing 
three  names.  He  quoted  on  the  one  side  Charles 
James  Fox,  Richard  Brinslsy  Sheridan,  John  Home 
Tooke,  John  Philpot  Curran,  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge, Theobald  Wolfe  Tone.  These  were  imtantice 
conveniences.  He  then  proceeded  to  cite  instances 
abscnticc  in  proximo,  William  Pitt,  John  Scott,  William 
Windham,  Samuel  Horsley,  Henry  Dundas,  Edmund 
Burke.  He  might  have  gone  on  to  instances  secundu/n 
magis  et  minus.  The  practice  of  giving  children  three 
names  has  been  for  some  time  a  growing  practice,  and 
Jacobinism  has  also  been  growing.  The  practice  of 
giving  children  three  names  is  more  common  in  Amer- 
ica than  in  England.  In  England  we  still  have  a  King 
and  a  House  of  Lords  ;  but  the  Americans  are  repub- 
licans. The  rejectiones  are  obvious.  Burke  and 
Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  are  both  Irishmen  ;  therefore 
the  being  an  Irishman  is  not  the  cause  of  Jacobinism. 
Horsley  and  Home  Tooke  are  both  clergymen  ;  there- 
fore the  being  a  clergyman  is  not  the  cause  of  Jaco- 
binism. Fox  and  Windham  were  both  educated  at 
Oxford  ;  therefore  the  being  educated  at  Oxford  is  nft 
the  cause  of  Jacobinism.  Pitt  and  Home  Tooke 
were  both  educated  at  Cambridge  ;  therefore  the  being 
educated  at  Cambridge  is  not  the  cause  of  Jacobinism. 

O 

In  this  way,  our  inductive  philosopher  arrives  at  what 
Bacon  calls  the  Vintage,  and  pronounces  that  the 
having  three  names  is  the  cause  of  Jacobinism. 

Here  is  an  induction  corresponding  with  Bucon:s 
analysis  and  ending  in  a  monstrous  absurdity.  In 
what  then  does  this  induction  differ  from  the  induc- 
tion which  leads  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the  presence 


LORD  BACON.  475 

of  the  sun  is  tlie  cause  of  our  having  more  light  by 
day  than  hy  night?  The  difference  evidently  is  not 
in  the  kind  of  instances,  but  in  the  number  of  in- 
stances ;  that  is  to  say,  the  difference  is  not  in  that 
part  of  the  process  for  which  Bacon  lias  given  precise 
rules,  but  in  a  circumstance  for  which  no  precise  rule 
can  possibly  be  given.  If  the  learned  author  of  the 
theory  about  Jacobinism  had  enlarged  either  of  his 
tables  a  little,  his  system  would  have  been  destroyed. 
The  names  of  Tom  Paine  and  William  Wyndham 
Grenville  would  have  been  sufficient  to  do  the  work. 

It  appears  to  us,  then,  that  the  difference  between  a 
sound  and  unsound  induction  does  not  lie  in  this,  that 
the  author  of  the  sound  induction  goes  through  the  pro- 
cess analysed  in  the  second  book  of  the  Novum  Orgctr 
num,  and  the  author  of  the  unsound  induction  through 
a  different  process.  They  both  perform  the  same  pro- 
cess. But  one  performs  it  foolishly  or  carelessly  ;  the 
other  performs  it  with  patience,  attention,  sagacity,  and 
judgment.  Now  precepts  can  do  little  towards  making 
men  patient  and  attentive,  and  still  less  towards  making 
them  sagacious  and  judicious.  It  is  very  well  to  tell 
men  to  be  on  their  guard  against  prejudices,  not  to  be- 
lieve facts  on  slight  evidence,  not  to  be  content  with  a 
scanty  collection  of  facts,  to  put  out  of  their  minds  the 
-Idola  which  Bacon  has  so  finely  described.  But  these 
.•ules  are  too  general  to  be  of  much  practical  use.  The 
question  is,  What  is  a  prejudice  ?  How  long  does  the 
incredulity  with  which  I  hear  a  new  theory  propounded 
continue  to  be  a  wise  and  salutary  incredulity  ?  When 
Iocs  it  become  an  idolnm  specus,  the  unreasonable  per- 
tinacity of  a  too  sceptical  mind?  What  is  slight  evi- 
dence ?  What  collection  of  facts  is  scanty  ?  Will  ten 
instances  do,  or  fifty,  or  a  hundred?  In  how  many 


476  LORD  BACON. 

months  would  the  first  human  beings  who  settled  on  the 
shores  of  the  ocean  have  been  justified  in  believing  that 
the  moon  had  an  influence  on  the  tides  ?  After  how 
many  experiments  would  Jenner  have  been  justified  in 
believing  that  he  had  discovered  a  safeguard  against 
the  small-pox  ?  These  are  qiiestions  to  which  it  would 
be  most  desirable  to  have  a  precise  answer  ;  but  unhap- 
pily they  are  questions  to  which  no  precise  answer  can 
be  returned. 

We  think  then  that  it  is  possible  to  lay  down  accu 
rate  rules,  as  Bacon  has  done,  for  the  performing  of 
that  part  of  the  inductive  process  which  all  men  per- 
form alike  ;  but  that  these  rules,  though  accurate,  are 
not  wanted,  because  in  truth  they  only  tell  us  to  do 
what  we  are  all  doing.  We  think  that  it  is  impossible 
to  lay  down  any  precise  rule  for  the  performing  of 
that  part  of  the  inductive  process  which  a  great  experi- 
mental philosopher  performs  in  one  way,  and  a  super- 
stitious old  woman  in  another. 

On  this  subject,  we  think,  Bacon  was  in  an  error. 
He  certainly  attributed  to  his  rules  a  value  which  did  not 
belong  to  them.  He  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that,  if  his 
method  of  making  discoveries  were  adopted,  little 
would  depend  on  the  degree  of  force  or  acuteness  of 
any  intellect ;  that  all  minds  would  be  reduced  to  one 
level,  that  his  philosophy  resembled  a  compass  or  a  rule 
which  equalises  all  hands,  and  enables  the  most  un- 
practised person  to  draw  a  more  correct  circle  or  line 
than  the  best  draughtsmen  can  produce  without  such 
aid.1  This  really  seems  to  us  as  extravagant  as  it 
would  have  been  in  Lindley  Murray  to  announce  that 
everybody  who  should  learn  his  Grammar  would  write 
»s  good  English  as  Dry  den,  or  in  that  very  able  writer 

1  Novum  0-rganum,  Praef.  and  Lib.  1.  A  ph.  122. 


LORD  BACON.  477 

the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  to  promise  that  all  the  read- 
ers of  his  Logic  would  reason  like  Chillingworth,  and 
that  all  the  readers  of  his  Rhetoric  would  speak  like 
Burke.  That  Bacon  was  altogether  mistaken  as  to  this 
point  will  now  hardly  be  disputed.  His  philosophy 
has  flourished  during  two  hundred  years,  and  has  pro- 
duced none  of  this  levelling.  The  interval  between  a 
man  of  talents  and  a  dunce  is  as  wide  as  ever  ;  and  is 
never  more  clearly  discernible  than  when  they  engage  in 
researches  which  require  the  constant  use  of  induction. 

It  will  be  seen  that  we  do  not  consider  Bacon's  ingen- 
ious analysis  of  the  inductive  method  as  a  very  useful 
performance.  Bacon  was  not,  as  we  have  already  said, 
the  inventor  of  the  inductive  method.  He  was  not 
even  the  person  who  first  analysed  the  inductive  method 
correctly,  though  he  undoubtedly  analysed  it  more 
minutely  than  any  who  preceded  him.  He  was  not  the 
person  who  first  showed  that  by  the  inductive  method 
alone  new  truth  could  be  discovered.  But  he  was  the 
person  who  first  turned  the  minds  of  speculative  men, 
long  occupied  in  verbal  disputes,  to  the  discovery  of 
new  and  -useful  truth ;  and,  by  doing  so,  he  at  once 
gave  to  the  inductive  method  an  importance  and  dignity 
which  had  never  before  belonged  to  it.  He  was  not 
the  maker  of  that  road ;  he  was  not  the  discoverer  of 
vhat  road ;  he  was  not  the  person  who  first  surveyed 
and  mapped  that  road.  But  he  was  the  person  who 
first  called  the  public  attention  to  an  inexhaustible  mine 
of  wealth,  which  had  been  utterly  neglected,  and  which 
was  accessible  by  that  road  alone.  By  doing  so,  he 
caused  that  road,  which  had  previously  been  trodden 
only  by  peasants  and  higglers,  to  be  frequented  by  a 
higher  class  of  travellers. 

That  which  -vas  eminently  his  own  in  his   system 


478  LORD  BACON. 

was  the  end  which  lie  proposed  to  himself.  Tl  e  end 
being  given,  the  means,  as  it  appears  to  us,  could  not 
well  be  mistaken.  If  others  had  aimed  at  the  same 
object  with  Bacon,  we  hold  it  to  be  certain  that  they 
would  have  employed  the  same  method  with  Bacon. 
It  would  have  been  hard  to  convince  Seneca  that  the 
inventing  of  a  safety-lamp  was  an  employment  worthy 
of  a  philosopher.  It  would  have  been  hard  to  persuade 
Thomas  Aquinas  to  descend  from  the  making  of  syllo- 
gisms to  the  making  of  gunpowder.  But  Seneca  would 
never  have  doubted  for  a  moment  that  it  was  only  l>y 
means  of  a  series  of  experiments  that  a  safety-lamp 
could  be  invented.  Thomas  Aquinas  would  never  have 
thought  that  his  barbara  and  baralipton  would  enable 
him  to  ascertain  the  proportion  which  charcoal  oug-ht  to 
bear  to  saltpetre  in  a  pound  of  gunpowder.  Neither 
common  sense  nor  Aristotle  would  have  suffered  him 
to  fall  into  such  an  absurdity. 

By  stimulating  men  to  the  discovery  of  new  truth, 
Bacon  stimulated  them  to  employ  the  inductive  method, 
the  only  method,  even  the  ancient  philosophers  and 
the  schoolmen  themselves  being  judges,  by  which  new 
truth  can  be  discovered.  By  stimulating  men  to  the 
discovery  of  useful  truth,  he  furnished  them  with  a 
motive  to  perform  the  inductive  process  well  and  care- 
fully. His  predecessors  had  been,  in  his  phrase,  not 
interpreters,  but  anticipators  of  nature.  They  had 
oeen  content  with  the  first  principles  at  which  they  had 
arrived  by  the  most  scanty  and  slovenly  induction. 
And  why  was  this  ?  It  was,  we  conceive,  because 
their  philosophy  proposed  to  itself  no  practical  end, 
because  it  was  merely  an  exercise  of  the  mind.  A  man 
who  wants  to  contrive  a  new  machine  or  a  new  medi- 
cine has  ^  strong  motive  to  observe  accurately  and 


LORD  BACON.  479 

patiently,  and  to  tiy  experiment  after  experiment. 
But  a  man  who  merely  wants  a  theme  for  disputation 
or  declamation  has  110  such  motive.  He  is  therefore 
content  with  premises  grounded  on  assumption,  or  ou 
the  most  scanty  and  hasty  induction.  Thus,  we  con- 
ceive, the  schoolmen  acted.  On  their  foolish  premises 
they  often  argued  with  great  ability ;  and  as  their 
object  was  u  assensum  subjugare,  non  res,"  1  to  be  vic- 
torious in  controversy,  not  to  be  victorious  over  nature, 
they  were  consistent.  For  just  as  much  logical  skill 
could  be  shown  in  reasoning  on  false  as  on  true  prem- 
ises. But  the  followers  of  the  new  philosophy,  pro- 
posing to  themselves  the  disco very^  of  useful  truth  as 
their  object,  must  have  altogether  failed  of  attaining 
that  object  if  they  had  been  content  to  build  theories  on 
superficial  induction. 

Bacon  has  remarked  2  that  in  ages  when  philosophy 
was  stationary,  the  mechanical  arts  went  on  improving. 
Why  was  this  ?  Evidently  because  the  mechanic  was 
not  content  with  so  careless  a  mode  of  induction  as' 
served  the  purpose  of  the  philosopher.  And  why  was 
the  philosopher  more  easily  satisfied  than  the  mechanic  ? 
Evidently  because  the  object  of  the  mechanic  was  to 
mould  things,  whilst  the  object  of  the  philosopher  was 
only  to  mould  words.  Careful  induction  is  not  at  all 
necessary  to  the  making  of  a  good  syllogism.  But  it 
is  indispensable  to  the  making  of  a  good  shoe.  Me- 
chanics, therefore,  have  always  been,  as  far  as  the 
range  of  their  humble  but  useful  callings  extended,  not 
anticipators  but  interpreters  of  nature.  And  when  a 
philosophy  arose,  the  object  of  which  was  to  do  on  a 
large  scale  what  the  mechanic  does  on  a  smal)  scale,  to 

1  Novum  Organum,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  29. 

2  De  Augmentis,  Lib.  1. 


480  LORD  BACON. 

extend  the  power  and  to  supply  the  wants  of  man,  the 
truth  of  the  premises,  which  logically  is  a  matter  alto- 
gether unimportant,  became  a  matter  of  the  highest 
importance ;  and  the  careless  induction  with  which  men 
of  learning  had  previously  been  satisfied  gave  place,  of 
necessity,  to  an  induction  far  more  accurate  and  satis- 
factory. 

What  Bacon  did  for  inductive  philosophy  may,  we 
think,  be  fairly  stated  thus.  The  objects  of  preceding 
speculators  were  objects  which  could  be  attained  with- 
out careful  induction.  Those  speculators,  therefore, 
did  not  perform  the  inductive  process  carefully.  Bacon 
stirred  up  men  .to  pursue  an  object  which  could  be  at- 
tained only  by  induction,  and  by  induction  carefully 
performed ;  and  consequently  induction  was  more  care- 
fully performed.  We  do  not  think  that  the  importance 
of  what  Bacon  did  for  inductive  philosophy  has  ever 
been  overrated.  But  we  think  that  the  nature  of  his 
services  is  often  mistaken,  and  was  not  fully  understood 
even  by  himself.  It  was  not  by  furnishing  philosophers 
irith  rules  for  performing  the  inductive  process  well,  but 
by  furnishing  them  with  a  motive  for  performing  it 
well,  that  he  conferred  so  vast  a  benefit  on  society. 

To  give  to  the  human  mind  a  direction  which  it  shall 
retain  for  ages  is  the  rare  prerogative  of  a  few  imperial 
spirits.  It  cannot,  therefore,  be  uninteresting  to  inquire 
what  was  the  moral  and  intellectual  constitution  which 
enabled  Bacon  to  exercise  so  vast  an  influence  on  the 
tvorld. 

In  the  temper  of  Bacon,  —  we  speak  of  Bacon  the 
philosopher,  not  of  Bacon  the  lawyer  and  politician, — 
ihere  was  a  singular  union  of  audacity  and  sobriety. 
Ihe  promises  which  he  made  to  mankind  might,  to  a 
superficial  reader,  seem  to  resemble  the  rants  which  a 


LORD  BACON.  481 

great  dramatist  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  an  Oriental 
conqueror  half-crazed  by  good  fortune  and  by  violent 
passions. 

"  He  shall  have  chariots  easier  than  air, 
Which  I  will  have  invented;  and  thyself 
That  art  the  messenger  shall  ride  before  him, 
On  a  horse  cut  out  of  an  entire  diamond, 
That  shall  be  made  to  go  with  golden  wheels, 
I  know  not  how  yet." 

But  Bacon  performed  what  he  promised.  In  truth, 
Fletcher  would  not  have  dared  to  make  Arbaces  prom- 
ise, in  his  wildest  fits  of  excitement,  the  tithe  of  what 
the  Baconian  philosophy  has  performed. 

The  true  philosophical  temperament  may,  we  think, 
be  described  in  four  words,  much  hope,  little  faith ;  a 
disposition  to  believe  that  any  thing,  however  extraor- 
dinary, may  be  done ;  an  indisposition  to  believe  that 
any  thing  extraordinary  has  been  done.  In  these 
points  the  constitution  of  Bacon's  mind  seems  to  us  to 
have  been  absolutely  perfect.  He  was  at  once  the 
Mammon  and  the  Surly  of  his  friend  Ben.  Sir  Epi- 
cure did  not  indulge  in  visions  more  magnificent  and 
gigantic.  Surly  did  not  sift  evidence  with  keener  and 
more  sagacious  incredulity. 

Closely  connected  with  this  peculiarity  of  Bacon's 
tempor  was  a  striking  peculiarity  of  his  understanding. 
With  great  minuteness  of  observation  he  had  an  ampli- 
tude of  comprehension  such  as  has  never  yet  been 
vouchsafed  to  any  other  human  being.  The  small  fine 
mind  of  Labruyere  had  not  a  more  delicate  tact  than 
the  large  intellect  of  Bacon.  The  Essays  contain 
abundant  proofs  that  no  nice  feature  of  character,  no 
peculiarity  in  the  ordering  of  a  house,  a  garden,  or  a 
court-masque,  could  escape  the  notice  of  one  whoso 

vou  in.  2] 


182  LORD  BACOX 

mind  was  capable  of  taking  in  the  whole  world  of 
knowledge.  His  understanding  resembled  the  tent 
which  the  fahy  Paribanou  gave  to  Prince  Ahmed. 
Fold  it ;  and  it  seemed  a  toy  for  the  hand  of  a  lady. 
Spread  it ;  and  the  armies  of  powerful  Sultans  might 
repose  beneath  its  shade. 

In  keenness  of  observation  he  has  been  equalled, 
though  perhaps  never  surpassed.  But  the  largeness  of 
his  mind  was  all  his  own.  The  glance  with  which  he 
surveyed  the  intellectual  universe  resembled  that  which 
the  Archangel,  from  the  golden  threshold  of  heaven, 
darted  down  into  the  new  creation. 

'  Round  he  surveyed,  —  and  well  might,  where  he  stood 
So  high  above  the  circling  canopy 
Of  night's  extended  shade,  —  fr-.m  eastern  point 
Of  Libra,  to  the  fleecy  star  which  bears 
Andromeda  far  off  Atlantic  seas 
Beyond  the  horizon." 

His  knowledge  differed  from  that  of  other  men,  as 
a  terrestrial  globe  differs  from  an  Atlas  which  contains 
a  different  country  on  every  leaf.  The  towns  and 
roads  of  England,  France,  and  Germany  are  better 
laid  down  in  the  Atlas  than  on  the  globe.  But  while 
we  are  looking  at  England  we  see  nothing  of  France  ; 
and  while  we  are  looking  at  France  we  see  nothing  of 
Germany.  We  may  go  to  the  Atlas  to  learn  the 
bearings  and  distances  of  York  and  Bristol,  or  of 
Dresden  and  Prague.  But  it  is  useless  if  we  want  to 
know  the  bearings  and  distances  /of  France  and 
Martinique,  or  of  England  and  Canada.  On  the  globe 
we  shall  not  find  all  the  market  towns  in  our  own 
neighbourhood ;  but  we  shall  learn  from  it  the  compara- 
tive ey.tent  and  the  relative  position  of  all  the  kingdoms 
?f  the  earth.  "  I  have  taken,"  said  Bacon,  in  a  letter 


LORD  BACON.  483 

tvritten  when  lie  was  only  thirty-one,  to  his  uncle 
Lord  Burleigh,  "  I  have  taken  all  knowledge  to  be  my 
province."  In  any  other  young  man,  indeed  in  any 
other  man,  this  would  have  been  a  ridiculous  flight  of 
presumption.  There  have  been  thousands  of  better 
mathematicians,  astronomers,  chemists,  physicians,  bota- 
nists, mineralogists,  than  Bacon.  No  man  would  go 
to  Bacon's  works  to  learn  any  particular  science  or  art, 
any  more  than  he  would  go  to  a  twelve-inch  globe  in 
order  to  find  his  way  from  Kennington  turnpike  to 
Clapham  Common.  The  art  which  Bacon  taught  was 
the  art  of  inventing  arts.  The  knowledge  in  which 
Bacon  excelled  all  men  was  a  knowledge  of  the  mutual 
relations  of  all  departments  of  knowledge. 

The  mode  in  which  he  communicated  his  thoughts 

O 

was  peculiar  to  him.  He  had  no  touch  of  that  dispu- 
tatious temper  which  he  often  censured  in  his  prede- 
cessors. He  effected  a  vast  intellectual  revolution  in 
opposition  to  a  vast  mass  of  prejudices ;  yet  he  never 
engaged  in  any  controversy  :  nay,  we  cannot  at  present 
recollect,  in  all  his  philosophical  works,  a  single  passage 
of  a  controversial  character.  All  those  works  might 

O 

with  propriety  have  been  put  into  the  form  which  he 
adopted  in  the  work  entitled  Cogitata  et  visa  :  "  Fran- 
ciscus  Baconus  sic  cogitavit."  These  are  thoughts 
which  have  occurred  to  me:  weigh  them  well:  and 

O 

take  them  or  leave  them. 

Borgia  said  of  the  famous  expedition  of  Charles  the 
Eighth,  that  the  French  had  conquered  Italy,  not  with 
Steel,  but  with  chalk  ;  for  that  the  only  exploit  which 
they  had  found  necessary  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
military  occupation  of  any  place  had  been  to  mark  the 
doors  of  the  houses  where  they  meant  to  quarter. 
Bacon  often  quoted  this  saying,  and  loved  to  apply  it 


184  LORD  BACOK 

to  the  victories  of  his  own  intellect.1  His  philosophy, 
he  said,  came  as  a  guest,  not  as  an  enemy.  She  found 
no  difficulty  in  gaining  admittance,  without  a  contest, 
into  every  understanding  fitted,  by  its  structure  and  by 
its  capacity,  to  receive  her.  In  all  this  we  think  that 
he  acted  most  judiciously ;  first,  because,  as  he  has 
himself  remarked,  the  difference  between  his  school 
and  other  schools  was  a  difference  so  fundamental  that 
there  was  hardly  any  common  ground  on  which  a 
controversial  battle  could  be  fought ;  and,  secondly, 
because  his  mind,  eminently  observant,  preeminently 
discursive  and  capacious,  was,  we  conceive,  neither 
formed  by  nature  nor  disciplined  by  habit  for  dialec- 
tical combat. 

Though  Bacon  did  not  arm  his  philosophy  with  the 
weapons  of  logic,  he  adorned  her  profusely  with  all  the 
richest  decorations  of  rhetoric.  His  eloquence,  though 
not  untainted  with  the  vicious  taste  of  his  age,  would 
alone  have  entitled  him  to  a  high  rank  in  literature. 
He  had  a  wonderful  talent  for  packing  thought  close, 
and  rendering  it  portable.  In  wit,  if  by  wit  be  meant 
the  power  of  perceiving  analogies  between  things  which 
appear  to  have  nothing  in  common,  he  never  had  an 
equal,  not  even  Cowley,  not  even  the  author  of  Hudi- 
bras.  Indeed,  he  possessed  this  faculty,  or  rather  this 
faculty  possessed  him,  to  a  morbid  degree.  When  he 
abandoned  himself  to  it  without  reserve,  as  he  did  in  the 
Sapientia  Veterum,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second  book 
of  the  De  Augmentis,  the  feats  which  he  performed 
were  not  merely  admirable,  but  portentous,  and  almost 
shocking.  On  these  occasions  we  marvel  at  him  as 
clowns  on  a  fair-day  marvel  at  a  juggler,  and  can  hardly 
lelp  thinking  that  the  devil  must  be  in  him. 

*  Nvcum  Organum,  Lib.  1.  Aph.  35.  and  elsewhere. 


LORD  BACON.  485 

These,  however,  were  freaks  in  which  his  ingenuity 
now  and  then  wantoned,  with  scarcely  any  other  object 
than  to  astonish  and  amuse.  But  it  occasionally  hap- 
pened that,  when  he  was  engaged  in  grave  and  profound 
investigations,  his  wit  obtained  the  mastery  over  all  his 
other  faculties,  and  led  him  into  absurdities  into  which 
no  dull  man  could  possibly  have  fallen.  We  will  give 
the  most  striking  instance  which  at  present  occurs  to  us. 
In  the  third  book  of  the  De  Augmentis  he  tells  us  that 
there  are  some  principles  which  are  not  peculiar  to  one 
science,  but  are  common  to  several.  That  part  of 
philosophy  which  concerns  itself  with  these  principles 
is,  in  his  nomenclature,  designated  as  philosophia  prima, 
Pie  then  proceeds  to  mention  some  of  the  principles 
with  which  this  philosophia  prima  is  conversant.  One 
of  them  is  this.  An  infectious  disease  is  more  likely  to 
be  communicated  while  it  is  in  progress  than  when  it  has 
reached  its  height.  This,  says  he,  is  true  in  medicine.  It 
is  also  true  in  morals  ;  for  we  see  that  the  example  of 
very  abandoned  men  injures  public  morality  less  than 
the  example  of  men  in  whom  vice  has  not  yet  extin- 
guished all  good  qualities.  Again,  he  tells  us  that  in 
music  a  discord  ending  in  a  concord  is  agreeable,  and 
that  the  same  thing  may  be  noted  in  the  affections. 
Once  more,  he  tells  us,  that  in  physics  the  energy  with 
which  a  principle  acts  is  often  increased  by  the  antiperis- 
tasis  of  its  opposite ;  and  that  it  is  the  same  in  the  contests 
of  factions.  If  the  making  of  ingenious  and  sparkling 
similitudes  like  these  be  indeed  the^/Mfos0jp7«#p?7Ma, 
we  are  quite  sure  that  the  greatest  philosophical  work 
of  the  nineteenth  century  is  Mr.  Moore's  Lalla  Rookh. 
The  similitudes  which  we  have  cited  are  very  happy 
similitudes.  But  that  a  man  like  Bacon  should  have 
"aken  them  for  more,  that  he  should  have  thought  the 


486  LORD  BACON. 

discovery  of  sush  resemblances  as  these  an  important 
part  of  philosophy,  has  always  appeared  to  us  one  of  the 
most  singular  facts  in  the  history  of  letters. 

The  truth  is  that  his  mind  was  wonderfully  quick  in 
perceiving  analogies  of  all  sorts.  But,  like  several  emi- 
nent men  whom  we  could  name,  both  living  and  dead, 
he  sometimes  appeared  strangely  deficient  in  the  power 
of  distinguishing  rational  from  fanciful  analogies,  analo- 
gies which  are  arguments  from  analogies  which  are  mere 
illustrations,  analogies  like  that  which  Bishop  Butler  so 
ably  pointed  out,  between  natural  and  revealed  religion, 
from  analogies  like  that  which  Addison  discovered,  be- 

O  ' 

tween  the  series  of  Grecian  gods  carved  by  Phidias  and 
the  series  of  English  kings  painted  by  Kneller.  This 
want  of  discrimination  has  led  to  many  strange  political 
speculations.  Sir  William  Temple  deduced  a  theory  of 
government  from  the  properties  of  the  pyramid.  Mr. 
Southey's  whole  system  of  finance  is  grounded  on  the 
phenomena  of  evaporation  and  rain.  In  theology, 
this  perverted  ingenuity  has  made  still  wilder  work. 
From  the  time  of  Irenseus  and  Origen  down  to  the 
present  day,  there  has  not  been  a  single  generation  in 
which  great  divines  have  not  been  led  into  the  most 
absurd  expositions  of  Scripture,  by  mere  incapacity  to 
distinguish  analogies  proper,  to  use  the  scholastic  phrase, 
from  analogies  metaphorical.1  It  is  curious  that  Bacon 
has  himself  mentioned  this  veiy  kind  of  delusion  among 
theidola  specus  ;  and  has  mentioned  in  language  which, 
we  are  inclined  to  think,  shows  that  he  knew  himself 
to  be  subject  to  it.  It  is  the  vice,  he  tells  us,  of  subtle 
minds  to  attach  too  much  importance  to  slight  distinc- 
tions ;  it  is  the  vice,  on  the  other  hand,  of  high  and  dis- 

JSee  some  interesting  remarks  on  this  subject  in  Bishop  Berkeley'i 
Uinute  Philosopher,  Dialogue  IV. 


LOED  BACON,  487 

cursive  intellects  to  attach  too  much  importance  to  slight 
resemblances ;  and  he  adds  that,  when  this  last  propen- 
sity is  indulged  to  excess,  it  leads  men  to  catch  at 
shadows  instead  of  substances. l 

Yet  we  cannot  wish  that  Bacon's  wit  had  been  less 
luxuriant.  For,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  which 
it  affords,  it  was  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  employed 
for  the  purpose  of  making  obscure  truth  plain,  of 
making  repulsive  truth  attractive,  of  fixing  in  the  mind 
forever  truth  Avhich  might  otherwise  have  left  but  a 
transient  impression. 

The  poetical  faculty  was  powerful  in  Bacon's  mind, 
but  not,  like  his  wit,  so  powerful  as  occasionally  to 
usurp  the  place  of  his  reason,  and  to  tyrannize  over  the 
whole  man.  No  imagination  was  ever  at  once  so  strong 
and  so  thoroughly  subjugated.  It  never  stirred  but  at 
a  signal  from  good  sense.  It  stopped  at  the  first  check 
from  good  sense.  Yet,  though  disciplined  to  such  obe- 
dience, it  gave  noble  proofs  of  its  vigour.  In  truth, 
much  of  Bacon's  life  was  passed  in  a  visionary  world, 
amidst  things  as  strange  as  any  that  are  described  in  the 
Arabian  Tales,  or  in  those  romances  ,  on  which  the 
curate  and  barber  of  Don  Quixote's  village  performed 
so  cruel  an  auto-de-fe,  amidst  buildings  more  sumptuous 
than  the  palace  of  Aladdin,  fountains  more  wonderful 
than  the  golden  water  of  Parizade,  conveyances  more 
rapid  than  the  hippogryph  of  Ruggiero,  arms  more 
formidable  than  the  lance  of  Astolfo,  remedies  more 
efficacious  than  the  balsam  of  Fierabras.  Yet  in  his 
magnificent  day-dreams  there  was  nothing  wild,  noth- 
ing but  what  sober  reason  sanctioned.  He  knew  that 
•ill  the  secrets  feigned  by  poets  to  have  been  written  in 
he  books  of  enchanters  are  worthless  when  compared 

1  Novum  0-rganum,  Lib  1.  Aph.  55. 


488  LORD  BACON 

with  the  mighty  secrets  which  are  reaLy  written  in  the 
book  of  nature,  and  which,  with  time  and  patience, 
will  be  read  there.  He  knew  that  all  the  wonders 
wrought  by  all  the  talismans  in  fable  were  trifles  when 
compared  to  the  wonders  which  might  reasonably  be 
expected  from  the  philosophy  of  fruit,  and  that,  if  his 
words  sank  deep  into  the  minds  of  men,  they  would 
produce  effects  such  as  superstition  had  never  ascribed 
to  the  incantations  of  Merlin  and  Michael  Scot.  It 
was  here  that  he  loved  to  let  his  imagination  loose.  He 
loved  to  picture  to  himself  the  world  as  it  would  be 
when  his  philosophy  should,  in  his  own  noble  phrase, 
"  have  enlarged  the  bounds  of  human  empire."1  We 
might  refer  to  many  instances.  But  we  will  content 
ourselves  with  the  strongest,  the  description  of  the 
House  of  Solomon  in  the  New  Atlantis.  By  most  oi 
Bacon's  contemporaries,  and  by  some  people  of  our 
time,  this  remarkable  passage  would,  we  doubt  not,  be 
considered  as  an  ingenious  rodomontade,  a  counterpart 
to  the  adventures  of  Sinbad  or  Baron  Munchausen. 
The  truth  is,  that  there  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  human 
composition  a  passage  more  eminently  distinguished  by 
profound  and  serene  wisdom.  The  boldness  and  origi- 
nality of  the  fiction  is  far  less  wonderful  than  the  nice 
discernment  which  carefully  excluded  from  that  long 
list  of  prodigies  every  thing  that  can  be  pronounced  im- 
possible, every  thing  that  can  be  proved  to  lie  beyond 
the  mighty  magic  of  induction  and  of  time.  Already 
some  parts,  and  not  the  least  startling  parts,  of  tliia 
glorious  prophecy  have  been  accomplished,  even  ac- 
cording to  the  letter ;  and  the  whole,  construed  accord- 
ing to  the  spirit,  is  daily  accomplishing  all  around  us. 
One  of  the  most  remarkable  circumstances  in  the 

1  New  Atlantis. 


LORD  BACON.  489 

history  of  Bacon's  mind  is  the  order  in  which  its  powers 
expanded  themselves.  With  him  the  fruit  came  first 
and  remained  till  the  last ;  the  blossoms  did  not  appear 
till  late.  In  general,  the  development  of  the  fancy  is 
to  the  development  of  the  judgment  what  the  growth 
)f  a  girl  is  to  the  growth  of  a  boy.  The  fancy  attains 
at  an  earlier  period  to  the  perfection  of  its  beauty,  its 
power,  and  its  fruitfulness ;  and,  as  it  is  first  to  ripen,  it 
is  also  first  to  fade.  It  has  generally  lost  something  of 
its  bloom  and  freshness  before,  the  sterner  faculties  have 
reached  maturity  ;  and  is  commonly  withered  and  bar- 
ren while  those  faculties  still  retain  all  their  energy.  It 
rarely  happens  that  the  fancy  and  the  judgment  grow 
together.  It  happens  still  more  rarely  that  the  judg- 
ment grows  faster  than  the  fancy.  This  seems,  how- 
ever, to  have  been  the  case  with  Bacon.  His  boyhood 
and  youth  appear  to  have  been  singularly  sedate.  His 
gigantic  scheme  of  philosophical  reform  is  said  by  some 
writers  to  have  been  planned  before  he  was  fifteen,  and 
was  undoubtedly  planned  while  he  was  still  young. 
He  observed  as  vigilantly,  meditated  as  deeply,  and 
judged  as  temperately  when  he  gave  his  first  work  to 
the  world  as  at  the  close  of  his  long  career.  But 
in  eloquence,  in  sweetness  and  variety  of  expression, 
and  in  richness  of  illustration,  his  later  writings  are  far 
superior  to  those  of  his  youth.  In  this  respect  the  his- 
tory of  his  mind  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  history 
of  the  mind  of  Burke.  The  treatise  on  the  Sublime 
and  Beautiful,  though  written  on  a  subject  which  the 
coldest  metaphysician  could  hardly  treat  without  being 
occasionally  betrayed  into  florid  writing,  is  the  most 
unadorned  of  all  Burke's  works.  It  appeared  when  he 
was  twenty-five  or  twenty-six.  When,  at  forty,  he 
*rote  the  Thoughts  on  the  Causes  of  the  existing  Dis- 


490  LORD  BACON. 

contents,  his  reason  and  his  judgment  had  reached  their 
full  maturity  ;  but  his  eloquence  was  still  in  its  splendid 
dawn.  At  fifty,  his  rhetoric  was  quite  as  rich  as  good 
taste  would  permit ;  and  when  he  died,  at  almost  sev- 
enty, it  had  become  ungracefully  gorgeous.  In  his  youth 
he  wrote  on  the  emotions  produced  by  mountains  and 
cascades,  by  the  master-pieces  of  painting  and  sculpture, 
by  the  faces  and  necks  of  beautiful  women,  in  the  style 
of  a  Parliamentary  report.  In  his  old  age  he  discussed 
treaties  and  tariffs  in  the  most  fervid  and  brilliant  lan- 
guage of  romance.  It  is  strange  that  the  Essay  on  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful,  and  the  Letter  to  a  Noble 
Lord,  should  be  the  productions  of  one  man.  But  it 
is  far  more  strange  that  the  Essay  should  have  been  a 
production  of  Ins  youth,  and  the  Letter  of  his  old 
age. 

We  will  give  very  short  specimens  of  Bacon's  two 
styles.  In  1597,  he  wrote  thus :  "  Crafty  men  con- 
temn studies  ;  simple  men  admire  them  ;  and  wise  men 
use  them  ;  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use :  that  is  a 
wisdom  without  them,  and  won  by  observation.  Head 
not  to  contradict,  nor  to  believe,  but  to  weigh  and  con- 
sider. Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swal- 
lowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested.  Read- 
ing maketh  a  full  man,  conference  a  ready  man,  and 
writing  an  exact  man.  And  therefore  if  a  man  write 
little,  he  had  need  have  a  great  memory  ;  if  he  confer 
little,  have  a  present  wit ;  and  if  he  read  little,  have 
much  cunning  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not.  His- 
tories make  men  wise,  poets  witty,  the  mathematics 
subtle,  natural  philosophy  deep,  morals  grave,  logic 
and  rhetoric  able  to  contend."  It  will  hardly  be  dis- 
puted that  this  is  a  passage  to  be  "  chewed  and  di- 
gested." We  do  not  believe  that  Thucydides  himself 


LORD  BACON.  491 

has  anywhere  compressed  so  much  thought  into  so  smaL 
a  space. 

In  the  additions  \vliich  Bacon  afterwards  made  to 
the  Essays,  there  is  nothing  superior  in  truth  or  weight 
to  what  we  have  quoted.  But  his  style  was  constantly 
becoming  richer  and  softer.  The  following  passage, 
first  published  in  1625,  will  show  the  extent  of  the 
change  :  "  Prosperity  is  the  blessing  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment ;  adversity  is  the  blessing  of  the  New,  which  car- 
rieth  the  greater  benediction  and  the  clearer  evidence 
of  God's  favour.  Yet,  even  in  the  Old  Testament,  if 
you  listen  to  David's  harp  you  shall  hear  as  many 
hearse-like  airs  as  carols ;  and  the  pencil  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  hath  laboured  more  in  describing  the  afflictions 
of  Job  than  the  felicities  of  Solomon.  Prosperity  is 
not  without  many  fears  and  distastes  ;  and  adversity  is 
not  without  comforts  and  hopes.  We  see  in  needle- 
works and  embroideries  it  is  more  pleasing  to  have  a 
lively  work  upon  a  sad  and  solemn  ground,  than  to  have 
a  dark  and  melancholy  work  upon  a  lightsome  ground. 
Judge  therefore  of  the  pleasure  of  the  heart  by  the 
pleasure  of  the  eye.  Certainly  virtue  is  like  precious 
odours,  most  fragrant  when  they  are  incensed  or 
crushed ;  for  prosperity  doth  best  discover  vice,  but 
adversity  doth  best  discover  virtue." 

It  is  by  the  Essays  that  Bacon  is  best  known  to  the 
multitude.  The  Novum  Organum  and  the  De  Aug- 
mentis  are  much  talked  of,  but  little  read.  They  have 
produced  indeed  a  vast  effect  on  the  opinions  of  man- 
kind ;  but  they  have  produced  it  through  the  operation 
pf  intermediate  agents.  They  have  moved  the  intel- 
.ects  which  have  moved  the  world.  It  is  in  the  Essays 
alone  that  the  mind  of  Bacon  is  brought  into  immediate 

O 

contact  with  the  minds  of  ordinary  readers.     There  he 


192  LORD  BACON. 

opens  an  exoteric  school,  and  talks  to  plain  men,  in 
language  which  everybody  understands,  about  things 
in  which  everybody  is  interested.  He  has  thus  enabled 
those  who  must  otherwise  have  taken  his  merits  on 
trust  to  judge  for  themselves ;  and  the  great  body  of 
readers  have,  during  several  generations,  acknowledged 
that  the  man  who  has  treated  with  such  consummate 
ability  questions  with  which  they  are  familiar  may  well 
be  supposed  to  deserve  all  the  praise  bestowed  on  him 
by  those  who  have  sat  in  his  inner  school. 

Without  any  disparagement  to  the  admirable  treatise 
De  Augmentis,  we  must  say  that,  in  our  judgment, 
Bacon's  greatest  performance  is  the  first  book  of  the 
Novum  Organum.  All  the  peculiarities  of  his  extraor- 
dinary mind  are  found  there  in  the  highest  perfection. 
Many  of  the  aphorisms,  but  particularly  those  in  which 
he  gives  examples  of  the  influence  of  the  idola,  show 
a  nicety  of  observation  that  has  never  been  surpassed. 
Every  part  of  the  book  blazes  with  wit,  but  with  wit 
which  is  employed  only  to  illustrate  and  decorate  truth. 
No  book  ever  made  so  great  a  revolution  in  the  mode 
of  thinking,  overthrew  so  many  prejudices,  introduced 
so  many  new  opinions.  Yet  no  book  was  ever  written 
in  a  less  contentious  spirit.  It  truly  conquers  with 
chalk  and  not  with  steel.  Proposition  after  proposition 
enters  into  the  mind,  is  received  not  as  an  invader,  but 
as  a  welcome  friend,  and  though  previously  unknown, 
becomes  at  once  domesticated.  But  what  we  most 
admire  is  the  vast  capacity  of  that  intellect  which,  with- 
out effort,  takes  in  at  once  all  the  domains  of  science, 
ill  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  all  the  errors 
of  two  thousand  years,  all  the  encouraging  signs  of  the 
passing  times,  all  the  bright  hopes  of  the  coming  age, 
Cowley,  who  was  among  the  most  ardent,  and  noi 


LORD  BACON.  493 

among  fehe  least  discerning  followers  of  the  new  philos- 
ophy, has,  in  one  of  his  finest  poems,  compared  Bacon 
to  Moses  standing  on  Mount  Pisgah.  It  is  to  Bacon, 
we  think,  as  he  appears  in  the  first  book  of  the  Novum 
Organum,  that  the  comparison  applies  with  peculiar 
felicity.  There  we  see  the  great  Lawgiver  looking 
round  from  his  lonely  elevation  on  an  infinite  expanse ; 
behind  him  a  wilderness  of  dreary  sands  and  bitter 
waters,  in  which  successive  generations  have  sojourned, 
always  moving,  yet  never  advancing,  reaping  no  har- 
vest, and  building  no  abiding  city ;  before  him  a  goodly 
land,  a  land  of  promise,  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey.  While  the  multitude  below  saw  only  the  flat 
sterile  desert  in  which  they  had  so  long  wandered, 
bounded  on  every  side  by  a  near  horizon,  or  diversified 
only  by  some  deceitful  mirage,  he  was  gazing  from  a 
far  higher  stand  on  a  far  lovelier  country,  following 
with  his  eye  the  long  course  of  fertilising  rivers,  through 
ample  pastures,  and  under  the  bridges  of  great  capitals, 
measuring  the  distances  of  marts  and  havens,  and 
portioning  out  all  those  wealthy  regions  from  Dan  to 
Beersheba. 

It  is  painful  to  turn  back  from  contemplating  Bacon's 
philosophy  to  contemplate  his  life.  Yet  without  so 
turning  back  it  is  impossible  fairly  to  estimate  his  pow- 
ers. He  left  the  University  at  an  earlier  age  than  that 
at  which  most  people  repair  thither.  While  yet  a  boy 
he  was  plunged  into  the  midst  of  diplomatic  business. 
Thence  he  passed  to  the  study  of  a  vast  technical  sys- 
tem of  law,  and  worked  his  way  up  through  a  succes- 
sion of  laborious  offices,  to  the  highest  post  in  his  pro- 
fession. In  the  mean  time  he  took  an  active  part  in 
every  Parliament ;  he  was  an  adviser  of  the  Crown : 
be  paid  court  with  the  greatest  assiduity  and  address  to 


19-1  LORD  BACON. 

all  whose  favour  was  likely  to  be  of  use  to  him ;  he  lived 
much  in  society ;  he  noted  the  slightest  peculiarities 
of  character,  and  the  slightest  changes  of  fashion. 
Scarcely  any  man  has  led  a  more  stirring  life  than 
.that  which  Bacon  led  from  sixteen  to  sixty.  Scarcely 
any  man  has  been  better  entitled  to  be  called  a  thor- 
ough man  of  the  world.  The  founding  of  a  new 
philosophy,  the  imparting  of  a  new  direction  to  the 
minds  of  speculators,  this  was  the  amusement  of  his 
leisure,  the  work  of  hours  occasionally  stolen  from  the 
Woolsack  and  the  Council  Board.  This  consideration, 
while  it  increases  the  admiration  with  which  we  regard 
his  intellect,  increases  also  our  regret  that  such  an 
intellect  should  so  often  have  been  unworthily  cm- 
ployed.  He  well  knew  the  better  course,  and  had,  at 
one  time,  resolved  to  pursue  it.  "  I  confess,"  said  he 
in  a  letter  written  when  he  was  still  young,  "  that  I 
have  as  vast  contemplative  ends  as  I  have  moderate 
civil  ends."  Had  his  civil  ends  continued  to  be  mod- 
erate, he  would  have  been,  not  only  the  Moses,  but  the 
Joshua  of  philosophy.  He  would  have  fulfilled  a  large 
part  of  his  own  magnificent  predictions.  He  would 
have  led  his  followers,  not  only  to  the  verge,  but  into 
the  heart  of  the  promised  land.  He  would  not  merely 
have  pointed  out,  but  would  have  divided  the  spoil. 
Above  all,  he  would  have  left,  not  only  a  great,  but  a 
spotless  name.  Mankind  would  then  have  been  able 
to  esteem  their  illustrious  benefactor.  We  should  not 
then  be  compelled  to  regard  his  character  with  mingled 
contempt  and  admiration,  with  mingled  aversion  and 
gratitude.  We  should  not  then  regret  that  there 
should  be  so  many  proofs  of  the  narrowness  and  self- 
ishness of  a  heart,  the  benevolence  of  which  was  yet 
large  enough  to  take  in  all  races  and  all  ages.  We 


LORD  BACON.  495 

should  not  then  have  to  blush  for  the  disingenuousness 
of  the  most  devoted  worshipper  of  speculative  truth, 
for  the  servility  of  the  boldest  champion  of  intellectual 
freedom.  We  should  not  then  have  seen  the  same 
man  at  one  time  far  in  the  van,  at  another  time  far  in 
the  rear  of  his  generation.  We  should  not  then  be 
forced  to  own  that  he  who  first  treated  legislation  as  a 
science  was  among  the  last  Englishmen  who  used  the 
rack,  that  he  who  first  summoned  philosophers  to  the 
great  work  of  interpreting  nature,  was  among  the  last 
Englishmen  who  sold  justice.  And  we  should  con- 
clude our  survey  of  a  life  placidly,  honourably,  benefi- 
cently passed,  "  in  industrious  observations,  grounded 
conclusions,  and  profitable  inventions  and  discoveries,"  * 
with  feelings  very  different  from  those  with  which  we 
now  turn  away  from  the  checkered  spectacle  of  so  much 
glory  and  so  much  shame. 

1  From  a  Letter  of  Bacon  to  Lord  Burlelgh.  • 


of  Lorn 


ESSAYS. 

VOL.  IV. 


ESSAYS. 

SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.1 

(Editiburgh  Iteview,  October,  1S38.) 

Ma.  COURTENAY  has  long  been  well  known  to  poli- 
ticians as  an  industrious  and  useful  official  man,  and  as 
an  upright  and  consistent  member  of  Parliament.  He 
has  been  one  of  the  most  moderate,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  one'of  the  least  pliant  members  of  the  Conserva- 
tive party.  His  conduct  has,  indeed,  on  some  questions, 
been  so  Whiggish,  that  both  those  who  applauded  and 
those  who  condemned  it  have  questioned  his  claim  to 
be  considered  as  a  Tory.  But  his  Toryism,  such  as  it 
is,  he  has  held  fast  through  all  changes  of  fortune  and 
fashion  ;  and  he  has  at  last  retired  from  public  life, 
leaving  behind  him,  to  the  best  of  our  belief,  no  per- 
sonal enemy,  and  carrying  with  him  the  respect  and 
good  will  of  many  who  strongly  dissent  from  his  opin- 
ions. 

This  book,  the  fruit  of  Mr.  Courtenay's  leisure,  is 
introduced  by  a  preface  in  which  he  informs  us  that  the 

1  Memoirs  of  the  Life,  Works,  and  Correspondence  of  Sir  Wittiam  Tern* 
pie.  By  the  Right  HON.  THOMAS  PKRKGRINE  COURTEN.AY.  2  vola 
Svo.  London:  1336. 

VOL.   IV.  1 


2  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

assistance  furnished  to  him  from  various  quarters  "  hag 
taught  him  the  superiority  of  literature  to  politics  for 
developing  the  kindlier  feelings,  and  conducing  to  an 
agreeable  life."  We  are  truly  glad  that  Mr.  Courtenay 
is  so  well  satisfied  with  his  new  employment,  and  we 
heartily  congratulate  him  on  having  been  driven  by 
events  to  make  an  exchange  which,  advantageous  as  it 
is,  few  people  make  while  they  can  avoid  it.  He  has 
little  reason,  in  our  opinion,  to  envy  any  of  those  who 
are  still  engaged  in  a  pursuit  from  which,  at  most,  they 
can  only  expect  that,  by  relinquishing  liberal  studies 
and  social  pleasures,  by  passing  nights  without  sleep 
and  summers  without  one  glimpse  of  the  beauty  of 
nature,  they  may  attain  that  laborious,  that  invidious, 
that  closely  watched  slavery  which  is  mocked  with  the 
name  of  power. 

The  volumes  before  us  are  fairly  entitled  to  the 
praise  of  diligence,  care,  good  sense,  and  impartiality; 
and  these  qualities  are  sufficient  to  make  a  beok  valua- 
ble, but  not  quite  sufficient  to  make  it  readable.  Mr. 
Courtenay  has  not  sufficiently  studied  the  arts  of  selec- 
tion and  compression.  The  information  with  which  he 
furnishes  us,  must  still,  we  apprehend,  be  considered  as 
BO  much  raw  material.  To  manufacturers  it  will  bt 
highly  useful ;  but  it  is  not  yet  in  such  a  form  that  it 
can  be  enjoyed  by  the  idle  consumer.  To  drop  meta- 
phor, we  are  afraid  that  this  work  will  be  less  accept- 
able to  those  who  read  for  the  sake  of  reading,  than  to 
those  who  read  in  order  to  write. 

We  cannot  help  adding,  though  we  are  extremely 
cmwilling  to  quarrel  with  Mr.  Courtenay  about  politics, 
that  the  book  would  not  be  at  all  the  worse  if  it  con- 
tained fewer  snarls  against  the  Whigs  of  the  present 
day.  Not  only  are  these  passages  out  of  place  in  a 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPI  E.  3 

historical  work,  but  some  of  them  are  intrinsically  such 
that  they  would  become  the  editor  of  a  third-rate  party 
newspaper  better  than  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Courtenay's 
talents  and  knowledge.  For  example,  we  are  told  that, 
"it  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,  familiar  to  those  who 
are  acquainted  with  history,  but  suppressed  by  the  new 
Whigs,  that  the  liberal  politicians  of  the  seventeenth 
century  and  the  greater  part  of  the  eighteenth,  never 
extended  their  liberality  to  the  native  Irish,  or  the  pro- 
fessors of  the  ancient  religion."  What  schoolboy  of 
fourteen  is  ignorant  of  this  remarkable  circumstance  ? 
What  Whig,  new  or  old,  was  ever  such  an  idiot  as  to 
think  that  it  could  be  suppressed  ?  Really  we  might 
as  well  say  that  it  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,  familiar 
to  people  well  read  in  history,  but  carefully  suppressed 
by  the  Clergy  of  the  Established  Church,  that  in  the 
fifteenth  century  England  was  in  communion  with 
Rome.  We  are  tempted  to  make  some  remarks  on 
another  passage,  which  seems  to  be  the  peroration  of  a 
speech  intended  to  have  been  spoken  against  the  Reform 
Bill :  but  we  forbear. 

We  doubt  whether  it  will  be  found  that  the  memory 
of  Sir  William  Temple  owes  much  to  Mr.  Courtenay'a 
researches.  Temple  is  one  of  those  men  whom  the 
world  has  agreed  to  praise  highly  without  knowing 
much  about  them,  and  who  are  therefore  more  likely  to 
lose  than  to  gain  by  a  close  examination.  Yet  he  is 
not  without  fair  pretensions  to  the  most  honourable 
place  among  the  statesmen  of  his  time.  A  few  of  them 
equalled  or  surpassed  him  in  talents ;  but  they  were 
men  of  no  good  repute  for  honesty.  A  few  may  be 
named  whose  patriotism  was  purer,  nobler,  and  more 
jlisinterested  than  his ;  but  they  were  men  of  TJO  emi- 
nent ability.  Morally,  he  was  abo're  Shfiftesbury ;  intel- 
'ectr.nllv,  he  was  above  Russell. 


£  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

To  say  of  a  man  that  he  occupied  a  high  position  in 
times  of  ni  sgovernment,  of  corruption,  of  civil  and  re- 
ligious faction,  that  nevertheless  he  contracted  no  great 
stain  and  bore  no  part  in  any  great  crime,  that  he  won 
the  esteem  of  a  profligate  Court  and  of  a  turbulent 
people,  without  being  guilty  of  any  disgraceful  subser- 
viency to  either,  seems  to  be  very  high  praise ;  and  all 
this  may  with  truth  be  said  of  Temple. 

Yet  Temple  is  not  a  man  to  our  taste.  A  temper 
not  naturally  good,  but  under  strict  command ;  a 
constant  regard  to  decorum  ;  a  rare  caution  in  playing 
that  mixed  game  of  skill  and  hazard,  human  life ;  a 
disposition  to  be  content  with  small  and  certain 
winnings  rather  than  to  go  on  doubling  the  stake ; 
these  seem  to  us  to  be  the  most  remarkable  features  of 
his  character.  This  sort  of  moderation,  when  united, 
as  in  him  it  was,  with  very  considerable  abilities, 
is,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  scarcely  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  highest  and  purest  integrity, 
and  yet  may  be  perfectly  compatible  with  laxity  of 
principle,  with  coldness  of  heart,  and  with  the  most 
intense  selfishness.  Temple,  we  fear,  had  not  sufficient 
warmth  and  elevation  of  sentiment  to  deserve  the 
name  of  a  virtuous  man.  He  did  not  betray  or  oppress 
bis  country  :  nay,  he  rendered  considerable  services  to 
her;  but  he  risked  nothing  for  her.  No  temptation 
which  either  the  King  or  the  Opposition  could  hold  out 
ever  induced  him  to  come  forward  as  the  supporter 
either  of  arbitrary  or  of  factious  measures.  But  he 
was  most  careful  not  to  give  offence  by  strenuously 
opposing  such  measures.  He  never  put  himself 
prominently  before  the  public  eye,  except  at  con- 
junctures when  he  was  almost  certain  to  gain  and 
"jould  not  possibly  lose,  at  conjunctures  when  th<f 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  5 

interest  of  the  State,  the  views  of  the  Court,  and 
the  passions  of  the  multitude,  all  appeared  for  an  instant 
to  coincide.  By  judiciously  availing  himself  of  several 
of  these  rare  moments,  he  succeeded  in  establishing  a 
high  character  for  wisdom  and  patriotism.  When  the 
favourable  crisis  was  passed,  he  never  risked  the  repu- 
tation which  he  had  won.  He  avoided  the  great 
offices  of  State  with  a  caution  almost  piisillanimous, 
and  confined  himself  to  quiet  and  secluded  departments 
of  public  business,  in  which  he  could  enjoy  moderate 
but  certain  advantages  without  incurring  envy.  If  the 
circumstances  of  the  country  became  such  that  it  was 
impossible  to  take  any  part  in  politics  without  some 
danger,  he  retired  to  his  library  and  his  orchard,  and, 
while  the  nation  groaned  under  oppression,  or  re- 
sounded with  tumult  and  with  the-  din  of  civil  arms, 
amused  himself  by  writing  memoirs  and  tying  up 
apricots.  His  political  career  bore  some  resemblance 
to  the  military  career  of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth.  Lewis, 
lest  his  royal  dignity  should  be  compromised  by  failure, 
never  repaired  to  a  siege,  till  it  had  been  reported  to 
liim  by  the  most  skilful  officers  in  his  service,  that 
nothing  could  prevent  the  fall  of  the  place.  When 
this  was  ascertained,  the  monarch,  in  his  helmet  and 
cuirass,  appeared  among  the  tents,  held  councils  of  war, 
Dictated  the  capitulation,  received  the  keys,  and  then 
returned  to  Versailles  to  hear  his  flatterers  repeat  that 
Turenne  had  been  beaten  at  Mariendal,  that  Conde* 
had  been  forced  to  raise  the  siege  of  Arras,  and  that 
the  only  warrior  whose  glory  had  never  been  obscured 
by  a  single  check  was  Lewis  the  Great.  Yet  Conde" 
end  Turenne  will  always  be  considered  as  captains  of  a 
-"cry  different  order  from  the  invincible  Lewis  ;  and  we 
must  own  that  many  statesmen  who  have  committed 


6  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

great  faults,  appear  to  us  to  be  deserving  of  more 
esteem  than  the  faultless  Temple.  For  in  truth  his 
faultlessness  is  chiefly  to  be  ascribed  to  his  extreme 
dread  of  all  responsibility,  to  his  determination  rather 
to  leave  his  country  in  a  scrape  than  to  run  any  chance 
of  being  in  a  scrape  himself  He  seems  to  have  been 
averse  from  danger ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
dangers  to  which  a  public  man  was  exposed,  in  those  days 
of  conflicting  tyranny  and  sedition,  were  of  the  most 
serious  kind.  He  could  not  bear  discomfort,  bodily  or 
mental.  His  lamentations  when,  in  the  course  of  his 
diplomatic  journeys,  he  was  put  a  little  out  of  his  way, 
and  forced,  in  the  vulgar  phrase,  to  rough  it,  are  quite 
amusing.  He  talks  of  riding  a  day  or  two  on  a  bad 
Westphalian  road,  of  sleeping  on  straw  for  one  night, 
of  travelling  in  winter  when  the  snow  lay  on  the 
ground,  as  if  he  had  gone  on  an  expedition  to  the 
North  Pole  or  to  the  source  of  the  Nile.  This  kind  of 
valetudinarian  effeminacy,  this  habit  of  coddling  him- 
self, appears  in  all  parts  of  his  conduct.  He  loved  fame, 
but  not  with  the  love  of  an  exalted  and  generous 
mind.  He  loved  it  as  an  end,  not  at  all  as  a  means ; 
as  a  personal  luxury,  not  at  all  as  an  instrument  of 
Advantage  to  others.  He  scraped  it  together  ai.vl 
treasured  it  up  with  a  timid  and  niggardly  thrift ;  and 
never  employed  the  hoard  in  any  enterprise,  however 
virtuous  and  useful,  in  which  there  was  hazard  of 
losing  one  particle.  No  wonder  if  such  a  person  did 
little  or  nothing  which  deserves  positive  blame.  But 
much  more  than  this  may  justly  be  demanded  of  a  man 
possessed  of  such  abilities,  and  placed  in  such  a  situa- 
ion.  Had  Temple  been  brought  before  Dante's  in- 
fernal tribunal,  he  would  not  have  been  condemned  to 
the  deeper  recesses  of  the  abyss.  He  would  not  have 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  7 

oeen  boiled  with  Dundee  in  tlie  crimson  pool  of  Buli- 
came,  or  hurled  with  Danby  into  the  seething  pitch  of 
Malebolge,  or  congealed  with  Churchill  in  the  eternal 
ice  of  Giudecca ;  but  he  would  perhaps  have  been 
placed  in  the  dark  vestibule  next  to  the  shade  of  that 
inglorious  pontiff — 

"  Che  fece  per  viltate  il  gran  rifiuto." 

Of  course  a  man  is  not  bound  to  be  a  politician  any 
more  than  he  is  bound  to  be  a  soldier ;  and  there  are 
perfectly  honourable  ways  of  quitting  both  politics  and 
the  military  profession.  But  neither  in  the  one  way  of 
life,  nor  in  the  other,  is  any  man  entitled  to  take  all 
the  sweet  and  leave  all  the  sour.  A  man  who  belongs 
to  the  army  only  in  time  of  peace,  who  appears  at  re- 
views in  Hyde  Park,  escorts  the  Sovereign  with  the 
utmost  valour  and  fidelity  to  and  from  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  retires  as  soon  as  he  thinks  it  likely  that 
he  may  be  ordered  on  an  expedition,  is  justly  thought 
to  have  disgraced  himself.  Some  portion  of  the  cen- 
sure due  to  such  a  holiday-soldier  may  justly  fall  on 
the  mere  holiday-politician,  who  flinches  from  his 
duties  as  soon  as  those  duties  become  difficult  and  disa- 
greeable, that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  it  becomes  peculiarly 
important  that  he  should  resolutely  perform  them. 

But  though  we  are  far  indeed  from  considering 
Temple  as  a  perfect  statesman,  though  we  place  him 
below  many  statesmen  who  have  committed  very  great 
errors,  we  cannot  deny  that,  when  compared  with  his 
oon Temporaries,  he  makes  a  highly  respectable  appear- 
ance. The  reaction  which  followed  the  victory  of  the 
nopular  party  over  Charles  the  First,  had  produced  a 
iiurtl'ul  eilect  on  the  national  character  ;  and  this  effect 
was  most  discernible  in  the  classes  and  in  the  plaaa 


8  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

\vhich  had  been  most  strongl y  excited  by  the  receni 
revolution.  The  deterioration  was  greater  in  London 
than  in  the  country,  and  was  greatest  of  all  in  tho 
courtly  and  official  circles.  Almost  all  that  remained 
of  what  had  been  good  and  noble  in  the  Cavaliers  and 
Roundheads  of  1042,  was  now  to  be  found  in  the 
middling  orders.  The  principles  and  feelings  which 
prompted  the  Grand  Remonstrance  were  still  strong 
amon^  the  sturdy  yeomen,  and  the  decent  God-fearing 
merchants.  The  spirit  of  Derby  and  Capel  still 
glowed  in  many  sequestered  manor-houses ;  but  among 
those  political  leaders  who,  at  the  time  of  the  Resto- 
ration, were  still  young  or  in  the  vigour  of  manhood, 
there  was  neither  a  Southampton  nor  a  Vane,  neither 
a  Falkland  nor  a  Hampden.  The  pure,  fervent,  and 
constant  loyalty  which,  in  the  preceding  reign,  had  re- 
mained unshaken  on  fields  of  disastrous  battle,  in  for- 
eign garrets  and  cellars,  and  at  the  bar  of  the  High 
Court  of  Justice,  was  scarcely  to  be  found  among  the 
rising  courtiers.  As  little,  or  still  less,  could  the  new 
chiefs  of  parties  lay  claim  to  the  great  qualities  of  the 
statesmen  who  had  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Long  Par- 
liament. Hampden,  Pym,  Vane,  Cromwell,  are  dis- 
criminated from  the  ablest  politicians  of  the  succeeding 
generation,  by  all  the  strong  lineaments  which  distin- 
guish the  men  who  produce  revolutions  from  the  men 
whom  revolutions  produce.  The  leader  in  a  great 
change,  the  man  who  stirs  up  a  reposing  community, 
and  overthrows  a  deeply-rooted  system,  may  be  a  very 
depraved  man ;  but  he  can  scarcely  be  destitute  of 
some  moral  qualities  which  extort  even  from  enemies  a 
reluctant  admiration,  fixedness  of  purpose,  intensity  of 
will,  enthusiasm,  which  is  not  the  less  fierce  or  perse- 
»ering  because  it  is  sometimes  disguised  under  the 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  0 

semblance  of  composTire,  and  which  bears  down  before 
it  the  force  of  circumstances  and  the  opposition  of  re- 
luctant minds.  These  qualities,  variously  combined 
with  all  sorts  of  virtues  and  vices,  may  be  found,  we 
think,  in  most  of  the  authors  of  great  civil  and  relig- 
ious movements,  in  Caesar,  in  Mahomet,  in  Hilde- 
brand,  in  Dominic,  in  Luther,  in  Robespierre ;  and 
these  qualities  were  found,  in  no  scanty  measure, 
among  the  chiefs  of  the  party  which  opposed  Charles 
the  First.  The  character  of  the  men  whose  minds  are 
formed  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  which  follows  a 
great  revolution  is  generally  very  different.  Heat,  the 
natural  philosophers  tell  us,  produces  rarefaction  of  the 
air ;  and  rarefaction  of  the  air  produces  cold.  So  zeal 
makes  revolutions  ;  and  revolutions  make  men  zealous 
for  nothing.  The  politicians  of  whom  we  speak,  what- 
ever may  be  their  natural  capacity  or  courage,  are 
almost  always  characterised  by  a  peculiar  levity,  a 
peculiar  inconstancy,  an  easy,  apathetic  way  of  looking 
at  the  most  solemn  questions,  a  willingness  to  leave  the 
direction  of  their  course  to  fortune  and  popular  opinion, 
a  notion  that  one  public  cause  is  nearly  as  good  as 
another,  and  a  firm  conviction  that  it  is  much  better  to 
be  the  hireling  of  the  worst  cause  than  to  be  a  martyr 
to  the  best. 

This  was  most  strikingly  the  case  with  the  English 
statesmen  of  the  generation  which  followed  the  Res- 
toration. They  had  neither  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
Cavalier  nor  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Republican.  They 
had  been  early  emancipated  from  the  dominion  of  old 
usages  and  feelings ;  yet  they  had  not  acquired  a 
strong  passion  for  innovation.  Accustomed  to  see 
Slid  establishments  shaking,  falling,  lying  in  ruins  at 
arounl  them,  accustomed  to  live  under  a  succession  of 


10  SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

constitutions  of  which  tne  average  duration  was  about 
a  twelvemonth,  they  had  no  religious  reverence  for 
prescription,  nothing  of  that  frame  of  mind  which 
naturally  springs  from  the  habitual  contemplation  of 
immemorial  antiquity  and  immovable  stability.  Ac- 
customed, on  the  other  hand,  to  see  change  after 
change  welcomed  with  eager  hope  and  ending  in 
disappointment,  to  see  shame  and  confusion  of  face 
follow  the  extravagant  hopes  and  predictions  of  rash 
and  fanatical  innovators,  they  had  learned  to  look  on 
professions  of  public  spirit,  and  on  schemes  of  reform, 
with  distrust  and  contempt.  They  sometimes  talked 
the  language  of  devoted  subjects,  sometimes  that  of 
ardent  lovers  of  their  country.  But  their  secret  creed 
seems  to  have  been,  that  loyalty  was  one  great  delu- 
sion, and  patriotism  another.  If  they  really  enter- 
tained any  predilection  for  the  monarchical  or  for  the 
popular  part  of  the  constitution,  for  episcopacy  or 
for  presbyterianism,  that  predilection  was  feeble  and 
languid,  and  instead  of  overcoming,  as  in  the  times 
of  their  fathers,  the  dread  of  exile,  confiscation,  and 
death,  was  rarely  of  power  to  resist  the  slightest 
impulse  of  selfish  ambition  or  of  selfish  fear.  Such 
was  the  texture  of  the  presbyterianism  of  Lauderdale, 
and  of  the  speculative  republicanism  of  Halifax.  The 
sense  of  political  honour  seemed  to  be  extinct.  With 
the  great  mass  of  mankind,  the  test  of  integrity  in  a 
public  man  is  consistency.  This  test,  though  very 
defective,  is  perhaps  the  best  that  any,  except  very 
acute  or  very  near  observers,  are  capable  of  applying  ; 
and  does  undoubtedly  enable  the  people  to  form  an 
estimate  of  the  characters  of  the  great,  which,  on  the 
whole,  approximates  to  correctness.  But  during  the 
ntter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  inconsistency 


SIR  WILLiAM  TEMPLE.  31 

had  necessarily  ceased  to  be  a  disgrace ;  and  a  man 
was  no  more  taunted  with  it,  than  lie  is  taunted  with 
being  black  at  Timbuctoo.  Nobody  was  ashamed  of 
avowin^  what  was  common  between  him  and  the 

O 

whole  nation.  In  the  short  space  of  about  seven 
years,  the  supreme  power  had  been  held  by  the  Long 
Parliament,  by  a  Council  of  Officers,  by  Barebones' 
Parliament,  by  a  Council  of  Officers  again,  by  a  Pro- 
tector according  to  the  Instrument  of  Government,  by 
a  Protector  according  to  the  Humble  Petition  and 
Advice,  by  the  Long  Parliament  again,  by  a  third 
Council  of  Officers,  by  the  Long  Parliament  a  third 
time,  by  the  Convention,  and*by  the  King.  In  such 
times,  consistency  is  so  inconvenient  to  a  man  who 
affects  it,  and  to  all  who  are  connected  with  him,  that 
it  ceases  to  be  regarded  as  a  virtue,  and  is  considered 
as  impracticable  obstinacy  and  idle  scrupulosity.  In- 
deed, in  such  times,  a  good  citixen  may  be  bound  in 
duty  to  serve  a  succession  of  Governments.  Blake 
did  so  in  one  profession  and  Hale  in  another ;  anfl 
the  conduct  of  both  has  been  approved  by  posterity. 
But  it  is  clear  that  when  inconsistency  with  respect 
to  the  most  important  public  questions  has  ceased  to 
be  a  reproach,  inconsistency  with  respect  to  questions 
of  minor  importance  is  not  likely  to  be  regarded  as 
dishonourable.  In  a  country  in  which  many  very 
honest  people  had,  within  the  space  of  a  few  months, 
supported  the  government  of  the  Protector,  that  cf 
the  Rump,  and  tluit  of  the  King,  a  man  was  not  likely 
to  be  ashamed  of  abandoning  his  party  for  a  place,  or 
yf  voting  for  a  bill  which  he  had  opposed. 

The  public  men  of  the  times  which  followed  the  Res- 
toration were  by  no  means  deficient  in  courage  or  abil- 
'iy  ;  and  some  kinds  of  talent  appear  to  have  been  de- 


12  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

veloped  amongst  them  to  a  remarkable,  we  niighl 
almost  say,  to  a  morbid  and  unnatural  degree.  Neither 
Thcramenes  in  ancient,  nor  Talleyrand  in  modern 
times,  had  a  finer  perception  of  all  the  peculiarities  of 
character,  and  of  all  the  indications  of  coming  change, 
than  some  of  our  countrymen  in  that  age.  Their 
power  of  reading  things  of  high  import,  in  signs  which 
to  others  were  invisible  or  unintelligible,  resembled 
magic.  But  the  curse  of  Reuben  was  upon  them  all: 
**  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel." 

This  character  is  susceptible  of  innumerable  modifi- 
cations, according  to  the  innumerable  varieties  of  intel- 
lect and  temper  in  which  it  may  be  found.  Men  of 
unquiet  minds  and  violent  ambition  followed  a  fearfully 
eccentric  course,  darted  wildly  from  one  extreme  to  an- 
other, served  and  betrayed  all  parties  in  turn,  showed 
their  unblushing  foreheads  alternately  in  the  van  of  the 
most  corrupt  administrations  and  of  tb  i  most  factious 
oppositions,  were  privy  to  the  most  gu'lty  mysteries, 
first  of  the  Cabal,  and  then  of  the  Rye-House  Plot, 
abjured  their  religion  to  win  their  sovereign's  favour 
while  they  were  secretly  planning  his  overthrow,  shrived 
themselves  to  Jesuits  with  letters  in  cipher  from  the 
Prince  of  Orange  in  their  pockets,  corresponded  with 
the  Ha^ue  whilst  in  office  under  James,  and  began  to 
correspond  with  St.  Germain's  as  soon  as  they  had 
kissed  hands  for  office  under  William.  But  Temple 
was  not  one  of  these. .  lie  was  not  destitute  of  ambi- 
tion. But  his  was  not  one  of  those  souls  in  which  un- 
Batisfisd  ambition  anticipates  the  tortures  of  hell,  gnaws 
like  the  worm  which  dietli  not,  and  burns  like  the  fire 
which  is  not  quenched.  His  principle  was  to  make 
lure  of  safety  and  comfort,  and  to  let  greatness  come  if 
,t  would.  It  came  :  lie  <d?joyed  it :  and,  in  the  very 


SIIx   WILLIAM  TE1IPLE.  13 

first  moment  in  wliicli  it  could  no  longer  be  enjoyed 
without  danger  and  vexation,  he  contentedly  let  it  go. 
He  was  not  exempt,  we  think,  from  the  prevailing 
political  immorality.  His  mind  took  the  contagion,  but 
took  it  ad  moclmn  recipicntis,  in  a  form  so  mild  that  an 
undiscerning  judge  might  doubt  whether  it  were  indeed 
the  same  fierce  pestilence  that  was  raging  all  around. 
The  malady  partook  of  the  constitutional  languor  of 
the  patient.  The  general  coiruption,  mitigated  by  las 
calm  and  unad venturous  temperament,  showed  itself  in 
omissions  and  desertions,  not  in  positive  crimes  ;  and 
his  inactivity,  though  sometimes  timorous  and  selfish, 
becomes  respectable  when  compared  with  the  malevo- 
lent and  perfidious  restlessness  of  Shaftesbury  and 
Sunderland. 

Temple  sprang  from  a  family  which,  though  ancient 
and  honourable,  had,  before  Ids  time,  been  scarcely 
mentioned  in  our  history,  but  which,  long  after  his 
death,  produced  so  many  eminent  men,  and  formed 
such  distinguished  alliances,  that  it  exercised,  in  a  regu- 
lar and  constitutional  manner,  an  influence  in  the  state 
scarcely  inferior  to  that  which,  in  widely  different  times, 
and  by  widely  different  arts,  the  House  of  Neville  at- 
tained in  England,  and  that  of  Douglas  in  Scotland. 

~  f  O 

^Hiring  the  latter  years  of  George  the  Second,  and 
through  the  whole  reign  of  George  the  Third,  mem- 
bers of  that  widely  spread  and  powerful  connection 
were  almost  constantly  at  the  head  either  of  the  Gov- 
ernment or  of  the  Opposition.  There  were  times 
when  the  cousinhood,  as  it  was  once  nicknamed,  would 
if  itself  have  furnished  almost  all  the  materials  neces- 
?ary  for  the  construction  of  an  efficient  Cabinet. 
Within  the  space  of  fifty  years,  three  First  Lords  of 
the  Treasury,  three  Secretaries  of  £  v.ate,  two  Keepers 


14  SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

of  the  Privy  Seal,  and  four  First  Lords  of  the  Admi- 
ralty were  appointed  from  among  the  sons  and  grand- 
sons of  the  Countess  Temple. 

So  splendid  have  been  the  fortunes  of  the  main  stock 
of  the  Temple  family,  continued  by  female  succession. 
William  Temple,  the  first  of  the  line  who  attained  to 
any  historical  eminence,  was  of  a  younger  branch.  His 
father,  Sir  John  Temple,  was  Master  of  the  liolls  in 
Ireland,  and  distinguished  himself  among  the  Privy 
Councillors  of  that  kingdom  by  the  zeal  with  which,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  struggle  between  the  Crown 
and  the  Long  Parliament,  he  supported  the  popular 
cause.  He  was  arrested  by  order  of  the  Duke  of  Or- 
mond,  but  regained  his  liberty  by  an  exchange,  repaired 
to  England,  and  there  sate  in  the  House  of  Commons 
as  burgess  for  Chichester.  He  attached  himself  to  the 
Presbyterian  party,  and  was  one  of  those  moderate 
members  who,  at  the  close  of  the  year  1648,  voted  for 
treating  with  Charles  on  the  basis  to  which  that  Prince 
had  himself  agreed,  and  who  were,  in  consequence, 
turned  out  of  the  House,  with  small  ceremony,  by 
Colonel  Pride.  Sir  John  seems,  however,  to  have 
made  his  peace  with  the  victorious  Independents  ;  for, 
in  1653,  he  resumed  his  office  in  Ireland. 

Sir  John  Temple  was  married  to  a  sister  of  the  cele- 
brated Henry  Hammond,  a  learned  and  pious  divine, 
who  took  the  side  of  the  King  with  very  conspicuous 
zeal  during  the  civil  war,  and  was  deprived  of  his  pre- 
ferment in  the  church  after  the  victory  of  the  Parlia- 
ment. On  account  of  the  loss  which  Hammond  sus- 
tained on  this  occasion,  he  has  the  honour  of  being 
lesignated,  in  the  cant  of  that  new  brood  of  Oxonian 
lectaries  who  unite  the  worst  parts  of  the  Jesait  to  the 
worst  parts  of  the  Orangeman,  as  Hammond,  Presbyter 
Doctor,  and  Confessor. 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  16 

AVilliam  Teir.ple,  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  was  born  in 
London  in  the  year  1628.  He  received  his  early  edu- 
cation under  his  maternal  uncle,  was  subsequently  sent 
to  school  at  Bishop-Stortford,  and,  at  seventeen,  began 
to  reside  at  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge,  where  the 
celebrated  Cudworth  was  his  tutor.  The  times  were 
not  favourable  to  study.  The  Civil  War  disturbed 
even  the  quiet  cloisters  and  bowling-greens  of  Cam- 
bridge, produced  violent  revolutions  in  the  government 
and  discipline  of  the  colleges,  and  unsettled  the  minds 
of  the  students.  Temple  forgot  at  Emmanuel  all  the 
little  Greek  which  he  had  brought  from  Bishop-Stort- 
ford, and  never  retrieved  the  loss ;  a  circumstance 
which  would  hardly  be  worth  noticing  but  for  the 
almost  incredible  fact  that,  fifty  years  later,  he  was  so 
absurd  as  to  set  up  his  own  authority  against  that  of 
Bentley  on  questions  of  Greek  history  and  philology. 
He  made  no  proficiency  either  in  the  old  philosophy 
which  still  lingered  in  the  schools  of  Cambridge,  or  in 
the  new  philosophy  of  which  Lord  Bacon  was  the 
founder.  But  to  the  end  of  his  life  he  continued  to 
speak  of  the  former  with  ignorant  admiration,  and  of 
the  latter  with  equally  ignorant  contempt. 

After  residing  at  Cambridge  two  years,  he  departed 
without  taking  a  degree,  and  set  out  upon  his  travels. 
He  seems  to  have  been  then  a  lively,  agreeable  young 
man  of  fashion,  not  by  any  means  deeply  read,  but 
versed  in  all  the  superficial  accomplishments  of  a  gen- 
tleman, and  acceptable  in  all  polite  societies.  In  poli- 
ces he  professed  himself  a  Royalist.  His  opinions  on 
religious  subjects  seem  to  have  been  such  as  might  be 
expected  from  a  young  man  of  quick  parts,  who  had 
received  a  rambling  education,  who  had  not  thought 
ly,  who  had  been  disgusted  by  the  morose  austerity 


16  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

of  the  Puritans,  and  who,  surrounded  from  childhood 
by  the  hubbub  of  conflicting  sheets,  might  easily  learn  to 
feel  an  impartial  contempt  for  them  all. 

On  his  road  to  France  he  fell  in  with  the  son  and 
daughter  of  Sir  Peter  Osborne.  Sir  Peter  held 
Guernsey  for  the  King,  and  the  young  people  were, 
like  their  father,  warm  for  the  royal  cause.  At  an 
inn  where  they  stopped  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  the 
brother  amused  himself  with  inscribing  on  the  win- 
dows his  opinion  of  the  ruling  powers.  For  this  in- 
stance of  malignancy  the  whole  party  were  arrested, 
and  brought  before  the  governor.  The  sister,  trust- 
ing to  the  tenderness  which,  even  in  those  troubled 
times,  scarcely  any  gentleman  of  any  party  ever  failed 
to  show  where  a  woman  was  concerned,  took  the  crime 
on  herself,  and  was  immediately  set  at  liberty  with  her 
fellow-travellers. 

This  incident,  as  was  natural,  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  Temple.  He  was  only  twenty.  Dorothy 
Osborne  was  twenty-one.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
handsome  ;  and  there  remains  abundant  proof  that  she 
possessed  an  ample  share  of  the  dexterity,  the  vivacity, 
and  the  tenderness  of  her  sex.  Temple  soon  became, 
in  the  phrase  of  that  time,  her  servant,  and  she  re- 
turned his  regard.  But  difficulties,  as  great  as  ever 
expanded  a  novel  to  the  fifth  volume,  opposed  their 
wishes.  When  the  courtship  commenced,  the  father 
of  the  hero  was  sitting  in  the  Long  Parliament ;  the 
father  of  the  heroine  was  commanding  in  Guernsey 
for  King  Charles.  Even  when  the  war  ended,  and 
Sir  Peter  Osborne  returned  to  his  seat  at  Chicksands, 
the  prospects  of  the  lovers  were  scarcely  less  gloomy. 
Sir  John  Temple  had  a  more  advantageous  alliance  in 
now  for  his  son.  Dorothy  Osborne  was  in  the  mean 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  17 

time  besieged  by  as  many  suitors  as  were  drawn  to 
Belmont  by  the  fame  of  Portia.  The  most  distin- 
guished on  the  list  was  Henry  Cromwell.  Destitute 
of  the  capacity,  the  energy,  the  magnanimity  of  his 
illustrious  father,  destitute  also  of  the  meek  and  placid 
virtues  of  his  elder  brother,  this  young  man  was  per- 
haps a  more  formidable  rival  in  love  than  either  of 
them  would  have  been.  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  speaking 
the  sentiments  of  the  grave  and  aged,  describes  him  as 
an  "  insolent  foole,"  and  a  "  debauched  ungodly  cava- 
lier." These  expressions  probably  mean  that  he  was 
one  who,  among  young  and  dissipated  people,  would 
pass  for  a  fine  gentleman.  Dorothy  was  fond  of  dogs 
of  larger  and  more  formidable  breed  than  those  which 
lie  on  modern  hearth  rugs ;  and  Henry  Cromwell 
promised  that  the  highest  functionaries  at  Dublin  should 
be  set  to  work  to  procure  her  a  fine  Irish  greyhound. 
She  seems  to  have  felt  his  attentions  as  very  flattering, 
though  his  father  was  then  only  Lord-General,  and  not 
yet  Protector.  Love,  however,  triumphed  over  ambi- 
tion, and  the  young  lady  appears  never  to  have  re- 
gretted her  decision  ;  though,  in  a  letter  written  just 
at  the  time  when  all  England  was  ringing  with  the 
news  of  the  violent  dissolution  of  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment, she  could  not  refrain  from  reminding  Temple, 
with  pardonable  vanity,  "  how  great  she  might  have 
been,  if  she  had  been  so  wise  as  to  have  taken  hold  of 
the  offer  of  H.  C." 

Nor  was  it  only  the  influence  of  rivals  that  Temple 
had  to  dread.  The  relations  of  his  mistress  regarded 
him  with  personal  dislike,  and  spoke  of  him  as  an  un- 
principled adventurer,  without  honour  or  religion,  ready 
.  to  render  service  to  any  party  for  the  sake  of  prefer- 
ment. This  is,  indeed,  a  very  distorted  view  of  Tern- 


18  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

pie's  character.  Yet  a  character,  even  in  the  most 
distorted  view  taken  of  it  by  the  most  angry  and  preju- 
diced minds,  generally  retains  something  of  its  outline. 
No  caricaturist  ever  represented  Mr.  Pitt  ai  a  Falstaff, 
or  Mr.  Fox  as  a  skeleton  ;  nor  did  any  libeller  ever 
'mpute  parsimony  to  Sheridan,  or  profusion  to  Marl- 
borough.  It  must  be  allowed  that  the  turn  of  mind 
which  the  eulogists  of  Temple  have  dignified  with  the 
appellation  of  philosophical  indifference,  and  which, 
however  becoming  it  may  be  in  an  old  and  experi- 
enced statesman,  has  a  somewhat  ungraceful  appear- 
ance in  youth,  might  easily  appear  shocking  to  a  family 
who  were  ready  to  fight  or  to  suffer  martyrdom  for 
their  exiled  King  and  their  persecuted  church.  The 
poor  girl  was  exceedingly  hurt  and  irritated  by  these 
imputations  on  her  lover,  defended  him  warmly  behind 
his  back,  and  addressed  to  himself  some  veiy  tender 
and  anxious  admonitions,  mingled  with  assurances  of 
her  confidence  in  his  honour  and  virtue.  On  one  oc- 
casion she  was  most  highly  provoked  by  the  way  in 
which  one  of  her  brothers  spoke  of  Temple.  "  We 
talked  ourselves  weary,"  she  says;  "he  renounced  me, 
and  I  defied  him." 

Near  seven  years  did  this  arduous  wooing  continue. 
We  are  not  accurately  informed  respecting  Temple's 
movements  during  that  time.  But  he  seems  to  have  led 
a  rambling  life,  sometimes  on  the  Continent,  sometimes 
in  Ireland,  sometimes  in  London.  He  made  himself 
master  of  the  French  and  Spanish  languages,  and 
amused  himself  by  writing  essays  and  romances,  an 
employment  which  at  least  served  the  purpose  of  fcrm- 
\ng  his  style.  The  specimen  which  Mr.  Courtenay 
vas  preserved  of  these  early  compositions  is  by  no 
means  contemptible :  indeed,  there  is  one  passage  or. 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  19 

Like  and  Dislike  winch  could  have  been  produced  only 
by  a  mind  habituated  carefully  to  reflect  on  its  own 
operations,  and  which  reminds  us  of  the  best  things  ir, 
Montaigne. 

Temple  appears  to  have  kept  up  a  very  active  cor- 
respondence with  his  mistress.  Kis  letters  are  lost,  but 
hers  have  been  preserved ;  and  many  of  them  appear 
in  these  volumes.  Mr.  Courtenay  expresses  some 
doubt  whether  his  readers  will  think  him  justified  in 
inserting  so  large  a  number  of  these  epistles.  We  only 
wish  that  there  were  twice  as  many.  Very  little  in- 
deed of  the  diplomatic  correspondence  of  that  genera- 
tion is  so  well  worth  reading.  There  is  a  vile  phrase 
of  which  bad  historians  are  exceedingly  fond,  "the 
dignity  of  history."  One  writer  is  in  possession  of 
some  anecdotes  which  would  illustrate  most  strikingly 
the  operation  of  the  Mississippi  scheme  on  the  manners 
and  morals  of  the  Parisians.  But  he  suppresses  those 
anecdotes,  because  they  are  too  low  for  the  dignity  of 
history.  Another  is  strongly  tempted  to  mention  some 
facts  indicating  the  horrible  state  of  the  prisons  of  Eng- 
land two  hundred  years  ago.  But  he  hardly  thinks 
that  the  sufferings  of  a  dozen  felons,  pigging  together 
on  bare  bricks  in  a  hole  fifteen  feet  square,  would  form 
a  subject  suited  to  the  dignity  of  history.  Another, 
fiom  respect  for  the  dignity  of  history,  publishes  an 
account  of  the  reign  of  George  the  Second,  without 
over  mentioning  Whitofield's  preaching  in  Moorfields. 
How  should  a  writer,  who  can  talk  about  senates,  and 
•.  jngresses  of  sovereigns,  and  pragmatic  sanctions,  and 
Cfivelines,  and  counterscarps,  and  battles  where  ten 
tl...).icand  men  are  killed,  and  six  thousand  men  with 
fifty  stand  of  colours  and  eighty  guns  taken,  stoop  to 
*iie  Stock- Kxrhange,  to  Newgate,  to  the  theatie,  to  the 
tabernacle  ? 


20  SIR  "WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Tragedy  lias  its  dignity  as  well  as  history  ;  and  how 
much  the  tragic  art  has  owed  to  that  dignity  any 
man  may  judge  who  will  compare  the  majestic  Alexan- 
drines in  which  the  Seigneur  Oreste  and  Madame 
Andromaque  utter  their  complaints,  with  the  chatter- 
ing of  the  fool  in  Lear  and  of  the  nurse  in  -Romeo  and 
Juliet. 

That  a  historian  should  not  record  trifles,  that  he 
should  confine  himself  to  what  is  important,  is  per- 
fectly true.  But  many  writers  seem  never  to  have 
considered  on  what  the  historical  importance  of  an 
event  depends.  They  seem  not  to  be  aware  that  the 
importance  of  a  fact,  when  that  fact  is  considered  with 
reference  to  its  immediate  effects,  and  the  importance 
of  the  same  fact,  when  that  fact  is  considered  as  part  of 
the  materials  for  the  construction  of  a  science,  are  two 
very  different  things.  The  quantity  of  good  or  evil 
which  a  transaction  produces  is  by  no  means  necessarily 
proportioned  to  the  quantity  of  light  which  that  trans- 
action affords,  as  to  the  way  in  which  good  or  evil  may 
hereafter  be  produced.  The  poisoning  of  an  emperor 
is  in  one  sense  a  far  more  serious  matter  than  the  poi- 
soning of  a  rat.  But  the  poisoning  of  a  rat  may  be  ai. 
era  in  chemistry ;  and  an  emperor  may  be  poisoned  by 
such  ordinary  means,  and  with  such  ordinary  symp- 
toms, that  no  scientific  journal  would  notice  the  occur- 
rence. An  action  for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  is  in 
one  sense  a  more  momentous  affair  than  an  action  for 
fifty  pounds.  But  it  by  no  means  follows  that  the 
learned  gentlemen  who  report  the  proceedings  of  the 
courts  of  law  ought  to  give  a  fuller  account  of  an 
action  for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  than  of  an 
action  for  fifty  pounds.  For  a  cause  in  which  a  large 
sum  is  at  stake  may  be  important  only  to  the  particular 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  21 

plain  tiff  and  the  particukr  defendant.  A  cause,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  which  a  small  sum  is  at  stake,  may  es- 
tablish some  great  principle  interesting  to  half  the 
families  in  the  kingdom.  The  case  is  exactly  the  same 
with  that  class  of  subjects  of  which  historians  treat. 
To  an  Athenian,  in  the  time  of  the  Peloponnesian  war, 
the  result  of  tho  battle  of  Delium  was  far  more  im- 
portant than  the  fate  of  the  comedy  of  The  Knights. 
But  to  us  the  fact  that  the  comedy  of  The  Knights 
was  brought  on  the  Athenian  stage  with  success  is  far 
more  important  than  the  fact  that  the  Athenian  pha- 
lanx gave  way  to  Delium.  Neither  the  one  event  nor 
the  other  has  now  any  intrinsic  importance.  We  are 
in  no  danger  of  being  speared  by  the  Thebans.  We 
are  not  quizzed  in  The  Knights.  To  us  the  importance 
of  both  events  consists  in  the  value  of  the  general 
truth  which  is  to  be  learned  from  them.  What  gen- 
erai  truth  do  we  leam  from  the  accounts  which  have 
come  down  to  us  of  the  battle  of  Delium  ?  Very  little 
more  than  this,  that  when  two  armies  fight,  it  is  not 
improbable  that  one  of  them  will  be  very  soundly 
beaten,  a  truth  which  it  would  not,  we  apprehend,  be 
difficult  to  establish,  even  if  all  memory  of  the  battle 
oi\  Delium  were  lost  among  men.  But  a  man  who 
becomes  acquainted  with  the  comedy  of  The  Knights, 
and  with  the  history  of  that  comedy,  at  once  feels  his 
mind  enlarged.  Society  is  presented  to  him  under  a 
new  aspect.  He  may  have  read  and  travelled  much. 
He  may  have  visited  all  the  countries  of  Europe,  and 
the  civilised  nations  of  the  East.  He  may  have  ob- 
served the  manners  of  many  barbarous  races.  But 
here  is  something  altogether  different  from  every  thing 
which  he  has  seen,  either  among  polished  men  or 
among  savages  Here  is  a  community  politically,  in 


22  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

tellcctually,  and  morally  unlike  any  other  community 
of  which  he  has  the  means  of  forming  an  opinion. 
This  is  the  really  precious  part  of  history,  the  corn 
which  some  threshers  carefully  sever  from  the  chaff',  for 
die  purpose  of  gathering  the  chuff  into  the  garner,  a;xl 
flinging  the  corn  into  the  fire. 

Thinking  thus,  we  are  glad  to  learn  so  much,  and 
would  willingly  learn  more,  about  the  loves  of  Sir 
William  and  his  mistress.  In  the  seventeenth  century, 
to  be  sure,  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  was  a  much  more 
important  person  than  Temple's  sweetheart.  But 
death  and  time  equalise  all  things.  Neither  thf  great 
King,  nor  the  beauty  of  Bedfordshire,  neither  the 
gorgeous  paradise  of  Marli  nor  Mistress  Osborne's 
favourite  walk  "  in  the  common  that  lay  hard  by  the 
house,  where  a  great  many  young  wenches  used  to 
keep  sheep  and  cows  and  sit  in  the  shade  singing  of 
ballads,"  is  any  thing  to  us.  Lewis  and  Dorothy  are 
alike  dust.  A  cotton-mill  stands  on  the  ruins  of  Marli ; 
and  the  Osbornes  have  ceased  to  dwell  under  the 
ancient  roof  of  Chicksands.  But  of  that  information 
for  the  sake  of  which  alone  it  is  worth  while  to  study 
remote  events,  we  find  so  much  in  the  love  letters 
which  Mr.  Courtenay  has  published,  that  we  woujd 
gladly  purchase  equally  interesting  billets  with  ten 
times  their  weight  in  state-papers  taken  at  random. 
To  ITS  surely  it  is  as  useful  to  know  how  the  young 
ladiss  of  England  employed  themselves  a  hundred  and 
eighty  years  ago,  how  far  their  minds  were  cultivated, 
A  hat  were  their  favourite  studies,  what  degi'ee  of  lib- 

'  O 

eity  was  allowed  to  them,  what  use  they  made  cf  that 
liberty,  what  accomplishments  they  most  valued  in  men, 
and  what  proofs  of  tenderness  delicacy  permitted  them 
to  give  to  favoured  suitors,  as  to  know  all  about  the 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  23 

seizure  of  Franclie  Comtd  and  tlie  treaty  of  Nimeguen. 
The  mutual  relations  of  the  two  sexes  seem  to  us  to  be 
at  least  as  important  as  the  mutual  relations  of  any  two 
governments  in  the  world ;  and  a  series  of  letters  writ- 
ten by  a  virtuous,  amiable,  and  sensible  girl,  and  in- 
tended for  the  eye  of  her  lover  alone,  can  scarcely  fail 
to  throw  some  light  on  the  relations  of  the  sexes  j 
whereas  it  is  perfectly  possible,  as  all  who  have  made 
any  historical  researches  can  attest,  to  read  bale  after 
bale  of  despatches  and  protocols,  without  catching 
one  glimpse  of  light  about  the  relations  of  govern- 
ments. 

Mr.  Courtenay  proclaims  that  he  is  one  of  Dorothy 
Osborne's  devoted  servants,  and  expresses  a  hope  that 
the  publication  of  her  letters  will  add  to  the  number. 
We  must  declare  ourselves  his  rivals.  She  really  seems 
to  have  been  a  very  charming  young  woman,  modest, 
generous,  affectionate,  intelligent,  and  sprightly  ;  a  roy- 
alist, as  was  to  be  expected  from  her  connections,  with- 
out any  of  that  political  asperity  which  is  as  unwomanly 
as  a  long  beard  ;  religious,  and  occasionally  gliding  into 
a  very  pretty  and  endearing  sort  of  preaching,  yet  not 
too  good  to  partake  of  such  diversions  as  London  af- 
forded under  the  melancholy  rale  of  the  puritans,  or  to 
giggle  a  little  at  a  ridiculous  sermon  from  a  divine  who 
•was  thought  to  be  one  of  the  great  lights  of  the  Assem- 
bly at  Westminster ;  with  a  little  turn  for  coquetry, 
which  was  yet  perfectly  compatible  with  warm  and  dis- 
interested attachment,  and  a  little  turn  for  satire,  which 
yet  seldom  passed  the  bounds  of  good-nature.  She 
loved  reading ;  but  her  studies  were  not  those  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  Lady  Jane  Grey.  She  read  the  verses 
of  Cowley  and  Lord  Broghill,  French  Memoirs  recom- 
mended by  her  lover,  and  the  travels  of  Fernando 


JI4  SIR   VTILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Mendez  Pinto.  But  her  favourite  books  were  those 
ponderous  French  romances  which  modern  readers 
know  chiefly  from  the  pleasant  satire  of  Charlotte  Len- 
nox. She  could  not,  however,  help  laughing  at  the  vile 
English  into  which  they  were  translated.  Her  own 
style  is  very  agreeable ;  nor  are  her  letters  at  all  the 
worse  for  some  passages  in  which  raillery  and  tender- 
ness are  mixed  in  a  very  engaging  namby-pamby. 

When  at  last  the  constancy  of  the  lovers  had  tri- 
umphed over  all  the  obstacles  which  kinsmen  and  rivals 
could  oppose  to  their  union,  a  yet  more  serious  calamity 
befell  them.  Poor  Mistress  Osborne  fell  ill  of  the  small- 
pox, and,  though  she  escaped  with  life,  lost  all  her 
beauty.  To  this  most  severe  trial  the  affection  and 
honour  of  the  lovers  of  that  age  was  not  unfrequently 
subjected.  Our  readers  probably  remember  what  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  tells  us  of  herself.  The  lofty  Cornelia-like 
spirit  of  the  aged  matron  seems  to  melt  into  a  -long  for- 
gotten softness  when  she  relates  how  her  beloved 
Colonel  "  married  her  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  quit 
the  chamber,  when  the  priest  and  all  that  saw  her  were 
affrighted  to  look  on  her.  ^  But  God,"  she  adds,  with  a 
not  ungraceful  vanity,  "  recompensed  his  justice  and 
constancy,  by  restoring  her  as  well  as  before."  Temple 
showed  on  this  occasion  the  same  justice  and  constancy 
which  did  so  much  honour  to  Colonel  Hutchinson. 
The  date  of  the  marriage  is  not  exactly  known.  But 
Mr.  Courtenay  supposes  it  to  liavo  taken  place  about 
the  end  of  the  year  1(35  4.  From  this  time  we  lose  sight 
of  Dorothy,  and  are  reduced  to  form  our  opinion  of  the 
terms  on  which  she  and  her  husband  were  from  very 
slight  indicatio7is  which  may  easily  mislead  us. 

Temple  soon  went  to  Ireland,  and  resided  with  his 
lather  >  partly  at  Dublin,  partly  in  the  county  of  Car- 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE  25 

ow.  Ireland  was  probably  then  a  more  agrteable  resi« 
deuce  for  the  higher  classes,  as  compared  with  England, 
than  it  has  ever  been  before  or  since.  In  no  part  of 
the  empire  were  the  superiority  of  Cromwell's  abilities 
and  the  force  of  his  character  so  signally  displayed.  lie 
had  not  the  power,  and  probably  had  not  the  inclina- 
tion, to  govern  that  island  in  the  best  way.  The  rebel- 
.ion  of  the  aboriginal  race  had  excited  in  England  a 
strong  religious  and  national  aversion  to  them;  nor  is 
there  any  reason  to  believe  that  the  Protector  was  so 
far  beyond  his  age  as  to  be  free  from  the  prevailing  sen- 
timent. He  had  vanquished  them  ;  he  knew  that  they 
were  in  his  power  ;  and  he  regarded  them  as  a  band  of 
malefactors  and  idolaters,  who  were  mercifully  treated 
if  they  were  not  smitten  with  the  edge  of  the  sword. 
On  those  who  resisted  he  had  made  war  as  the  Hebrews 
made  war  on  the  Canaanites.  Drogheda  was  as  Jeri- 
cho ;  and  Wexford  as  Ai.  To  the  remains  of  the  old 
population  the  conqueror  granted  a  peace,  such  as  that 
which  Israel  granted  to  the  Gibeonites.  He  made 
them  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water.  But, 
good  or  bad,  he  could  not  be  otherwise  than  great. 
Under  favourable  circumstances,  Ireland  would  have 
found  in  him  a  most  just  and  beneficent  ruler.  She 
found  in  him  a  tyrant ;  not  a  small  teasing  tyrant,  such 
as  those  who  have  so  long  been  her  curse  and  her 
shame,  but  one  of  those  awful  tyrants  who,  at  kn™1  in- 

tf  O 

tervals,  seem  to  be  sent  on  earth,  like  aveno-ino-  angels, 

CP     O          o        ' 

with  some  high  commission  of  destruction  and  reno- 
vation. He  was  no  man  of  half  measures,  of  mean 
affronts  and  ungracious  concessions.  His  Protestant 
ascendency  was  not  an  ascendency  of  ribands,  and  lid- 
dies,  and  statues,  and  processions.  He  would  nevel 
have  dreamed  of  abolishing  the  penal  code  and  with* 


26  SIB  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

holding  from  Catholics  the  elective  franchise,  of  giving 
them  the  elective  franchise  and  excluding  them  from 
Parliament,  of  admitting  them  to  Parliament,  and  refus- 
ing to  them  a  full  and  equal  participation  in  all  the  bless- 
ings of  society  and  government.  The  thing  most  alien 
from  his  clear  intellect  and  his  commanding  spirit  was 
petty  persecution.  He  knew  how  to  tolerate  ;  and  he 
knew  how  to  destroy.  His  administration  in  Ireland  was  an 
administration  on  what  are  now  called  Orange  principles, 
followed  out  most  ably,  most  steadily,  most  undauntedly, 
most  unrelentingly,  to  every  extreme  consequence  to 
wliich  those  principles  lead ;  and  it  would,  if  continued, 
inevitably  have  produced  the  effect  wliich  he  contem- 
plated, an  entire  decomposition  and  reconstruction  of'soci- 
ety.  He  had  a  great  and  definite  object  in  view,  to  make 
Ireland  thoroughly  English,  to  make  Ireland  another 
Yorkshire  or  Norfolk.  Thinly  peopled  as  Ireland  then 
was,  this  end  was  not  unattainable ;  and  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that,  if  his  policy  had  been  followed 
during  fifty  years,  this  end  would  have  been  attained. 
Instead  of  an  emigration,  such  as  we  now  see  from  Ire- 
land to  England,  there  was,  under  his  government,  a 
constant  and  large  emigration  from  England  to  Ireland. 
Tin's  tide  of  population  ran  almost  as  strongly  as  that 
wliich  now  runs  from  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut 
to  the  states  behind  the  Ohio.  The  native  race  was 
driven  back  before  the  advancing  van  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  population,  as  the  American  Indians  or  the 
U'ibes  of  Southern  Africa  are  now  driven  back  before  the 
white  settlers.  Those  fearful  phgenomena  which  have 
almost  invariably  attended  the  planting  of  civilised  col- 
onies in  uncivilised  countries,  and  which  had  been 
known  to  the  nations  of  Europe  only  by  distant  and 
questionable  rumour,  were  now  publicly  exhibited  in 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  27 

their  sight.  The  words,  "  extirpation,"  "  eradication," 
were  often  in  the  mouths  of  the  English  back-settlerg 
of  Leinstcr  and  Munster,  cruel  words,  yet,  in  their  cru- 
elty, containing  more  mercy  than  much  softer  expres- 
sions which  have  since  been  sanctioned  by  universities 
and  cheered  by  Parliaments.  For  it  is  in  truth  more 
merciful  to  extirpate  a  hundred  thousand  human  beings 
at  once,  and  to  fill  the  void  with  a  well-governed  pop- 
ulation, than  to  misgovern  millions  through  a  long  suc- 
cession of  generations.  We  can  much  more  easily 
pardon  tremendous  seventies  inflicted  for  a  great  object, 
than  an  endless  series  of  paltry  vexations  and  oppres- 
sions inflicted  for  no  rational  object  at  all. 

Ireland  was  fast  becoming  English.  Civilisation  and 
wealth  were  making  rapid  progress  in  almost  every 
part  of  the  island.  The  effects  of  that  iron  despotism 
are  described  to  us  by  a  hostile  witness  in  very  remark- 
able language.  "  Which  is  more  wonderful,"  says 
Lord  Clarendon,  "  all  this  was  done  and  settled  within 
little  more  than  two  years,  to  that  degree  of  perfection 
that  there  were  many  buildings  raised  for  beauty  as 
well  as  use,  orderly  and  regular  plantations  of  trees, 
and  fences  and  inclosures  raised  throughout  the  king- 
dom, purchases  made  by  one  from  another  at  very  val- 
uable rates,  and  jointures  made  upon  marriages,  and  all 
other  conveyances  and  settlements  executed,  as  in  a 
kingdom  at  peace  within  itself,  and  where  no  doubt 
could  be  made  of  the  validity  of  titles." 

All  Temple's  feelings  about  Irish  questions  were 
those  of  a  colonist  and  a  member  of  the  dominant  caste. 
He  troubled  himself  as  little  about  the  welfare  of  the 
remains  of  the  old  Celtic  population,  as  an  English 
farmer  on  the  Swan  River  troubles  himself  about  the 
New  Hollanders,  or  a  Dutch  boor  at  the  Cape  about 


88  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

the  CafTres.  The  years  which  he  passed  in  Ireland, 
while  the  Cromwellian  system  was  in  full  operation,  lie 
always  described  as  "  years  of  great  satisfaction." 
Farming,  gardening,  county  business,  and  studies  rather 
entertaining  than  profound,  occvipied  his  time.  In  pol- 
itics he  took  no  part,  and  many  years  later  he  attributed 
this  inaction  to  his  love  of  the  ancient  constitution, 
which,  he  said,  "  would  not  suffer  him  to  enter  into 
public  affairs  till  the  way  was  plain  for  the  King's 
happy  restoration."  It  does  not  appear,  indeed,  that 
any  offer  of  employment  was  made  to  him.  If  he  re- 
ally did  refuse  any  preferment,  we  may,  without  much 
breach  of  charity,  attribute  the  refusal  rather  to  the 
caution  which,  during  his  whole  life,  prevented  him 
from  running  any  risk,  than  to  the  fervour  of  his  loyalty. 

In  16GO  he  made  his  first  appearance  in  public  life. 
He  sat  in  the  convention  which,  in  the  midst  of  the 
general  confusion  that  preceded  the  Restoration,  was 
summoned  by  the  chiefs  of  the  army  of  Ireland  to 
meet  in  Dublin.  After  the  King's  return  an  Irish  par- 
liament was  regularly  convoked,  in  which  Temple  rep- 
resented the  county  of  Carlow.  The  details  of  his 
conduct  in  this  situation  are  not  known  to  us.  But  we 
are  told  in  general  terms,  and  can  easily  believe,  that 
he  showed  great  moderation,  and  great  aptitude  for 
business.  It  is  probable  that  he  also  distinguished  him- 
self in  debate  ;  for  many  years  afterwards  he  remarked 
that  "  hi3  friends  in  Ireland  used  to  think  that,  if  he 
had  any  talent  at  all,  it  lay  in  that  way." 

In  May,  166-3,  the  Irish  parliament  was  prorogued, 
and  Temple  repaired  to  England  with  his  wife.  Ilia 
income  amounted  to  about  five  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
a  sum  which  was  then  sufficient  for  the  wants  of  a 
family  mixing  in  fashionable  circles,  He  passed  twc 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  29 

years  in  London,  where  lie  seems  to  have  led  that  easy, 
lounging  life  which  was  best  suited  to  his  temper. 

He  was  not,  however,  unmindful  of  his  interest. 
He  had  brought  with  him  letters  of  introduction  from 
the  Duke  of  Ormond.  then  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland, 
to  Clarendon,  and  to  Henry  Bennct,  Lord  Arlington, 
who  was  Secretary  of  State.'  Clarendon  was  at  the 
head  of  affairs.  But  his  power  was  visibly  declining, 
and  was  certain  to  decline  more  and  more  every  day. 
An  observer  much  less  discerning  than  Temple  might 
easily  perceive  that  the  Chancellor  was  a  man  who  be- 
longed to  a  by-gone  world,  a  representative  of  a  past 
age,  of  obsolete  modes  of  thinking,  of  unfashionable 
vices,  and  of  more  unfashionable  virtues.  His  long 
exile  had  made  him  a  stranger  in  the  country  of  his 
birth.  His  mind,  heated  by  conflict  and  by  personal 
suffering,  was  far  more  set  against  popular  and  tolerant 
courses  than  it  had  been  at  the  time  of  the  breaking 
out  of  the  civil  war.  He  pined  for  the  decorous  tyr- 
anny of  the  old  Whitehall ;  for  the  days  of  that  sainted 
king  who  deprived  his  people  of  their  money  and  their 
ears,  but  let  their  wives  and  daughters  alone  ;  and  could 
scarcely  reconcile  himself  to  a  court  with  a  seraglio 
and  without  a  Star-chamber.  By  taking  this  course 
ue  made  himself  every  day  more  odious,  both  to  the 
overeign,  who  loved  pleasure  much  more  than  prerog- 
ative, and  to  the  people,  who  dreaded  royal  prerogatives 
much  more  than  royal  pleasures  ;  and  thus  he  was  at 
last  more  detested  by  the  Court  than  any  chief  of  the 
Opposition,  and  more  detested  by  the  Parliament  than 
any  pandar  of  the  Court. 

Temple,  whose  great  maxim  was  to  defend  no  party, 
was  not  likely  to  cling  to  the  falling  fortunes  of  a 
minister  the  study  of  whose  life  was  to  offend  all 


30  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

parties.  Arlington,  whose  influence  was  gradually 
rising  as  that  of  Clarendon  diminished,  was  the  most 
useful  patron  to  whom  a  young  adventurer  could  at- 
tach himself.  This  statesman,  without  virtue,  wisdom, 
or  strength  of  mind,  had  raised  himself  to  greatness 
by  superficial  qualities,  and  was  the  mere  creature  of 
the  time,  the  circumstances,  and  the  company.  The 
dignified  reserve  of  manners  which  he  had  acquired 
during  a  residence  in  Spain  provoked  the  ridicule  of 
those  who  considered  the  usages  of  the  French  court 
as  the  only  standard  of  good  breeding,  but  served 
to  impress  the  crowd  with  a  favourable  opinion  of 
his  sagacity  and  gravity.  In  situations-  where  the 
solemnity  of  the  Escurial  would  have  been  out  of  place, 
he  threw  it  aside  without  difficulty,  and  conversed 
with  great  humour  and  vivacity.  While  the  multi- 
tude were  talking  of  "Bennet's  grave  looks,"1  his 
mirth  made  his  presence  always  welcome  in  the  royal 
closet.  While  Buckingham,  in  the  antechamber,  was 
mimicking  the  pompous  Castilian  strut  of  the  Secre- 
tary, for  the  diversion  of  Mistress  Stuart,  this  stately 
Don  was  ridiculing  Clarendon's  sober  counsels  to  the 
King  within,  till  his  Majesty  cried  with  laughter,  and 
the  Chancellor  with  vexation.  There  perhaps  never 
was  a  man  whose  outward  demeanour  made  such  dif- 
ferent impressions  on  diiferent  people.  Count  Hamil- 
ton, for  example,  describes  him  as  a  stupid  formalist, 
who  had  been  made  secretary  solely  on  account  of  his 
tiysterious  and  important  looks.  Clarendon,  on  the 
other  hand,  represents  him  as  a  man  whose  "  best 
faculty  was  raillery,"  and  who  was  "  for  his  pleasant 
and  agreeable  humour  acceptable  unto  the  King.' 

1  "Bennet's  grave  looks  were  a  pretence"  is  a  line  in  one  of  the  besf, 
political  poems  of  that  age. 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  31 

Flic  truth  seems  to  be  that,  destitute  as  Bennet  was 
of  all  the  higher  qualifications  of  a  minister,  he  had  a 
wonderful  talent  for  becoming,  in  outward  semblance, 
all  things  to  all  men.  He  had  two  aspects,  a  busy  and 
serious  one  for  the  public,  whom  he  wished  to  awe 
into  respect,  and  a  gay  one  for  Charles,  who  thought 
that  the  greatest  service  which  could  be  rendered  to 

& 

a  prince  was  to  amuse  him.  Yet  both  these  were 
masks  which  he  laid  aside  when  they  had  served  their 
turn.  Lono-  after,  when  he  had  retired  to  his  deer- 

O  7 

park  and  fish-ponds  in  Suffolk,  and  had  no  motive  to 
act  the  part  either  of  the  hidalgo  or  of  the  buffoon, 
Evelyn,  who  was  neither  an  unpractised  nor  an  un- 
discerning  judge,  conversed  much  with  him,  and 
pronounced  him  to  be  a  man  of  singularly  polished 
manners  and  of  great  colloquial  powers. 

Clarendon,  proud  and  imperious  by  nature,  soured 
by  age  and  disease,  and  relying  on  his  great  talents  and 
services,  sought  out  no  new  allies.  He  seems  to  have 
taken  a  sort  of  morose  pleasure  in  slighting  and  pro- 
voking all  the  rising  talent  of  the  kingdom.  His  con- 
nections were  almost  entirely  confined  to  the  small 
circle,  every  day  becoming  smaller,  of  old  cavaliers 
«vho  had  been  friends  of  his  youth  or  companions  of 
his  exile.  Arlington,  on  the  other  hand,  beat  up  every- 
where for  recruits.  No  man  had  a  greater  personal 
following,  and  no  man  exerted  himself  more  to  serve 
his  adherents.  It  was  a  kind  of  habit  with  him  to 
uush  up  his  dependents  to  his  own  level,  and  then  to 
complain  bitterly  of  their  ingratitude  because  they  did 
not  choose  to  be  his  dependents  any  longer.  It  was 
'bus  that  he  quarrelled  with  two  successive  Treasurers, 
Gifford  and  Danby.  To  Arlington  Temple  attached 
'jimself,  and  was  not  sparing  of  warm  professions  of 


82  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

affection,  or  even,  we  grieve  to  say,  of  gross  and  al- 
most profane  adulation.  In  no  long  time  lie  obtained 
bis  reward. 

England  was  in  a  very  different  situation  with  re- 
spect to  foreign  powers  from  that  which  she  had  occu- 
pied during  the  splendid  administration  of  the  Protector. 
She  was  engaged  in  Avar  with  the  United  Provinces, 
then  governed  with  almost  regal  power  by  the  Grand 
Pensionary,  John  de  Witt;  and  though  no  war  had 
ever  cost  the  kingdom  so  much,  none  had  ever  been 
more  feebly  and  meanly  conducted.  France  had 
espoused  the  interests  of  the  States-General.  Den- 
mark seemed  likely  to  take  the  same  side.  Spain, 
indignant  at  the  close  political  and  matrimonial  alliance 
which  Charles  had  formed  with  the  House  of  Braganza, 
was  not  disposed  to  lend  him  any  assistance.  The 
great  plague  of  London  had  suspended  trade,  had  scat- 
tered the  ministers  and  nobles,  had  paralysed  every 
department  of  the  public  service,  and  had  increased 
the  gloomy  discontent  which  misgovernnient  had  begun 
to  excite  throughout  the  nation.  One  continental  ally 
England  possessed,  the  Bishop  of  Minister,  a  restless 
arid  ambitious  prelate,  bred  a  soldier,  and  still  a  soldier 
in  all  his  tastes  and  passions.  He  hated  the  Dutch  for 
interfering  in  the  affairs  of  his  see,  and  declared  him- 
Belf  willing  t.  <  risk  his  little  dominions  for  the  chance 
of  revenge.  He  sent,  accordingly,  a  strange  kind  of 
ambassador  to  London,  a  Benedictine  monk,  who  spoke 
bad  English,  and  looked,  says  Lord  Clarendon,  "  like  a 
^rter."  This  person  brought  a  letter  from  the  Bishop, 
offering  to  make  an  attack  by  land  on  the  Dutch  terri- 
tory. The  English  ministers  eagerly  caught  at  the 
proposal,  and  promised  a  subsidy  of  500,000  rix-dolkrs 
lo  their  new  ally.  It  was  determined  to  send  an  Eng 


SIB  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  33 

fish  agent  to  Munster ;  and  Arlington,  to  whose  de- 
partment the  business  belonged,  fixed  on  Temple  for 
this  post. 

Temple  accepted  the  commission,  and  acquitted  him- 
self to  the  satisfaction  of  his  employers,  though  the 
whole  plan  ended  in  nothing,  and  the  Bishop,  finding 
that  France  had  joined  Holland,  made  haste,  after 
pocketing  an  instalment  of  his  subsidy,  to  conclude  a 
separate  peace.  Temple,  at  a  later  period,  looked  back 
with  no  great  satisfaction  to  this  part  of  his  life  ;  and 
excused  himself  for  undertaking  a  negotiation  from 
which  little  good  could  result,  by  saying  that  he  was 
then  young  and  very  new  to  business.  In  truth,  he 
could  hardly  have  been  placed  in  a  situation  where  the 
eminent  diplomatic  talents  which  he  possessed  could 
have  appeared  to  less  advantage.  He  was  ignorant  of 
the  German  language,  and  did  not  easily  accommodate 
himself  to  the  manners  of  the  people.  He  could  not 
bear  much  wine ;  and  none  but  a  hard  drinker  had 
any  chance  of  success  in  Westphalian  Society.  Under 
all  these  disadvantages,  however,  he  gave  so  much  sat- 
isfaction that  he  was  created  a  baronet,  and  appointed 
resident  at  the  viceregal  court  of  Brussels. 

Brussels  suited  Temple  far  better  than  the  palaces  of 
the  boar-hunting  and  wine-bibbing  princes  of  Germany. 
He  now  occupied  one  of  the  most  important  posts  of 
observation  in  which  a  diplomatist  could  be  stationed. 
He  was  placed  in  the  territory  of  a  great  neutral  power, 
between  the  territories  of  two  great  powers  which  wero 
at  war  with  England.  From  this  excellent  school  he 
Boon  came  forth  the  most  accomplished  negotiator  of 
dis  age. 

In  the  mean  time  the  government  of  Charles  had 
\uffered  a  succession  of  humiliating  disasters.  The 


54  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

extravagance  of  the  court  had  dissipated  all  the  means 
which  Parliament  had  supplied  for  the  purpose  of 
carrying  on  offensive  hostilities.  It  was  determined 
to  wage  only  a  defensive  war ;  and  even  for  defensive 
war  the  vast  resources  of  England,  managed  by  triflers 
and  public  robbers,  were  found  insufficient.  The 
Dutch  insulted  the  British  coasts,  sailed  up  the  Thames, 
took  Sheerness,  and  carried  their  ravages  to  Chatham. 
The  blaze  of  the  ships  burning  in  the  river  was  seen  at 
London:  it  was  rumoured  that  a  foreign  army  had 
landed  at  Gravesend  ;  and  military  men  seriously  pro- 
posed to  abandon  the  Tower.  To  such  a  depth  of 
infamy  had  a  bad  administration  reduced  that  proud 
and  victorious  country,  which  a  few  years  before  had 
dictated  its  pleasure  to  Mazarine,  to  the  States-General, 
and  to  the  Vatican.  Humbled  by  the  events  of  the 
war,  and  dreading  the  just  anger  of  Parliament,  the 
English  Ministry  hastened  to  huddle  up  a  peace  with 
France  and  Holland  at  Breda. 

But  a  new  scene  was  about  to  open.  It  had  already 
been  for  some  time  apparent  to  discerning  observers,  that 
England  and  Holland  were  threatened  by  a  common 
danger,  much  more  formidable  than  any  which  they 
had  reason  to  apprehend  from  each  other.  The  old 
enemy  of  theh'  independence  and  of  their  religion  was 
no  longer  to  be  dreaded.  The  sceptre  had  passed 
.iway  from  Spain.  That  mighty  empire,  on  which  the 
sun  never  set,  which  had  crushed  the  liberties  of  Italy 
and  Germany,  which  had  occupied  Paris  with  its 
armies,  and  covered  the  British  seas  with  its  sails, 
was  at  the  mercy  of  every  spoiler;  and  Europe  ob- 
served with  dismay  the  rapid  growth  of  a  new  and 
more  formidable  power.  Men  looked  to  Spain  and 
saw  only  weakness  disguised  and  increased  by  pride, 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  85 

dominions  of  vast  bulk  and  little  strength,  tempting, 
unwieldy,  and  defenceless,  an  empty  treasury,  a  sullen 
and  torpid  nation,  a  child  on  the  throne,  factions  in  the 
council,  ministers  who  served  only  themserves,  and 
soldiers  who  were  terrible  only  to  their  countrymen. 
Men  looked  to  France,  and  saw  a  large  and  compact 
territory,  a  rich  soil,  a  central  situation,  a  bold,  alert, 
and  ingenious  people,  large  revenues,  numerous  and 
well-disciplined  troops,  an  active  and  ambitious  prince, 
in  the  flower  of  his  age,  surroTinded  by  generals  of  un- 
rivalled skill.  The  projects  of  Lewis  could  be  coun- 
teracted only  by  ability,  vigour,  and  union  on  the  part 
of  his  neighbours.  Ability  and  vigour  had  hitherto 
been  found  in  the  councils  of  Holland  alone,  and  of 
union  there  was  no  appearance  in  Europe.  The  ques- 
tion of  Portuguese  independence  separated  England 
from  Spain.  Old  grudges,  recent  hostilities,  maritime 
pretensions,  commercial  competition  separated  England 
as  widely  from  the  United  Provinces. 

The  great  object  of  Lewis,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  his  reign,  was  the  acquisition  of  those  large  and 
valuable  provinces  of  the  Spanish  monarchy,  which  lay 
contiguous  to  the  eastern  frontier  of  France.  Already, 
before  the  conclusion  of  the  treaty  of  Breda,  he  had 
invaded  those  provinces.  He  now  pushed  on  his  con- 
quest with  scarcely  any  resistance.  Fortress  after 
fortress  was  taken.  Brussels  itself  was  in  danger  ;  and 
Temple  thought  it  wise  to  send  his  Avife  and  children 
to  England.  But  his  sister,  Lady  Giffard,  who  had 
been  some  time  his  inmate,  and  who  seems  to  have 
been  a  more  important  personage  in  his  family  than  his 
wife,  still  remained  with  him. 

De  Witt  saw  the  progress  of  the  French  arms  with 
gainful  anxiety.  But  it  was  not  in  the  power  of 


86  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Holland  alone  to  save  Flanders  ;  and  the.  difficulty  of 
forming  an  extensive  coalition  for  that  purpose,  appeared 
almost  insuperable.  Lewis,  indeed,  affected  moder- 
ation. He  declared  himself  willing  to  agree  to  a  com- 
promise with  Spain.  But  these  offers  were  undoubt- 
edly mere  professions,  intended  to  quiet  the  apprehen- 
sions of -the  neighbouring  powers;  and,  as  his  position 
became  every  day  more  and  more  advantageous,  it  was 
to  be  expected  that  he  would  rise  in  his  demands. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Temple  obtained 
from  the  English  Ministry  permission  to  make  a  tour 
in  Holland  incognito.  In  company  with  Lady  Gif 
fard  he  arrived  at  the  Hague.  He  was  not  charged 
with  any  public  commission,  but  he  availed  himself  of 
this  opportunity  of  introducing  himself  to  De  Witt. 
"  My  only  business,  sir,"  he  said,  "  is  to  see  the  things 
which  are  most  considerable  in  your  country,  and  I 
should  execute  my  design  very  imperfectly  if  I  went 
away  without  seeing  you."  De  "Witt,  who  from  re- 
port had  formed  a  high  opinion  of  Temple,  was  pleased 
by  the  compliment,  and  replied  with  a  frankness  and 
cordiality  which  at  once  led  to  intimacy.  The  two 
statesmen  talked  calmly  over  the  causes  which  had 
estranged  England  from  Holland,  congratulated  each 
other  on  the  peace,  and  then  began  to  discuss  the  new 
dangers  which  menaced  Europe.  Temple,  who  had 
no  authority  to  say  any  thing  on  behalf  of  the  English 
Government,  expressed  himself  very  guardedly.  De 
Witt,  who  was  himself  the  Dutch  Government,  had  no 
reason  to  be  reserved.  He  openly  declared  that  his 
wish  was  to  see  a  general  coalition  formed  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  Flanders.  His  simplicity  and  openness 
amazed  Temple,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  the  af- 
%cted  solemnity  of  his  patron,  the  Secretary,  and  tc 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  37 

the  eternal  doublings  and  evasions  which  passed  for 
great  feats  of  statesmanship  among  the  Spanish  politi- 
cians at  Brussels.  "  Whoever,"  he  wrote  to  Arling- 
ton, "  deals  with  M.  de  Witt  must  go  the  same  plain 
way  that  he  pretends  to  in  his  negotiations,  without 
refining  or  colouring  or  offering  shadow  for  substance/' 
Temple  was  scarcely  less  struck  by  the  modest  dwell- 
ing and  frugal  table  of  the  first  citizen  of  the  richest 
shite  in  the  world.  While  Clarendon  was  amazing 
London  with  a  dwelling  more  sumptuous  than  the 
palace  of  his  master,  while  Arlington  was  lavishing 
his  ill-gotten  wealth  on  the  decoys  and  orange-gardens 
and  interminable  conservatories  of  Euston,  the  great 
statesman  who  had  frustrated  all  their  plans  of  con- 
quest, and  the  roar  of  whose  guns  they  had  heard 
with  terror  even  in  the  galleries  of  Whitehall,  kept 
only  a  single  servant,  walked  about  the  streets  in  the 
plainest  garb,  and  never  used  a  coach  except  for  visits 
of  ceremony. 

Temple  sent  a  full  account  of  his  interview  with 
De  Witt  to  Arlington,  who,  in  consequence  of  the 
fall  of  the  Chancellor,  now  shared  with  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  the  principal  direction  of  affairs.  Arling- 
ton showed  no  disposition  to  meet  the  advances  of  the 
Dutch  minister.  Indeed,  as  was  amply  proved  a  few 
years  later,  both  he  and  his  master  were  perfectly 
willing  to  purchase  the  means  of  misgoverning  Eng- 
land by  giving  up,  not  only  Flanders,  but  the  whole 
Continent,  to  France.  Temple,  who  distinctly  saw 
that  a  moment  had  arrived  at  which  it  was  possible 
to  reconcile  his  country  witn  Holland,  to  reconcile 
Charles  with  the  Parliament,  to  bridle  the  power  of 
Lewis,  to  efface  the  shame  of  the  late  ignominious 
var,  to  restore  England  to  the  same  place  in  Europe 


38  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

which  she  had  occupied  under  Cromwell,  became  more 
and  more  urgent  in  his  representations.  Arlington's 
replies  were  for  some  time  couched  in  cold  and  am- 
biguous terms.  But  the  events  which  followed  the 
meeting  of  Parliament,  in  the  autumn  of  1667,  appear 
to  have  produced  an  entire  change  in  his  views.  The 
discontent  of  the  nation  was  deep  and  general.  The 
administration  was  attacked  in  all  its  parts.  The  King 
and  the  ministers  laboured,  not  unsuccessfully,  to 
throw  on  Clarendon  the  blame  of  past  miscarriages  ;  but 
though  the  Commons  were  resolved  that  the  late  Chan- 
cellor should  be  the  first  victim,  it  was  by  no  means 
clear  that  he  would  be  the  last.  The  Secretary  was  per- 
sonally attacked  with  great  bitterness  in  the  course  of 
the  debates.  One  of  the  resolutions  of  the  Lower  House 
against  Clarendon  was  in  truth  a  censure  of  the  foreign 
policy  of  the  Government,  as  too  favourable  to  France. 
To  these  events  chiefly  we  are  inclined  to  attribute  the 
change  which  at  this  crisis  took  place  in  the  measures 
of  England.  The  Ministry  seem  to  have  felt  that,  if 
they  wished  to  derive  any  advantage  from  Clarendon's 
downfall,  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  abandon  what 
was  supposed  to  be  Clarendon's  system,  and  by  some 
splendid  and  popular  measure  to  win  the  confidence  of 
the  nation.  Accordingly,  in  December,  1667,  Temple 
received  a  despatch  containing  instructions  of  the  high- 
est importance.  The  plan  which  he  had  so  strongly 
recommended  was  approved ;  and  he  was  directed  to 
visit  De  Witt  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  to  ascertain 
whether  the  States  were  willing  to  enter  into  an  offen- 
sive and  defensive  league  with  England  against  the 
projects  of  France.  Temple,  accompanied  by  his  sister, 
instantly  set  out  for  the  Hague,  and  laid  the  propositions 
of  the  English  Government  before  the  Grand  Pension 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  39 

ary.  The  Dutch  statesman  answered  with  character- 
istic straightforwardness,  that  he  was  fully  ready  to 
Rgree  to  a  defensive  confederacy,  but  that  it  was  the 
fundamental  principle  of  the  .foreign  policy  of  the  States 
to  make  no  offensive  alliance  under  any  circumstances 
whatever.  With  this  answer  Temple  hastened  from 
the  Hague  to  London,  had  an  audience  of  the  King, 
related  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  De  Witt, 
exerted  himself  to  remove  the  unfavourable  opinion 
which  had  been  conceived  of  the  Grand  Pensionary  at 
the  English  court,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  succeeding 
in  all  his  objects.  On  the  evening  of  the  first  of  Janu- 
ary, 1068,  a  council  was  held,  at  which  Charles  de- 
clared his  resolution  to  unite  with  the  Dutch  on  their 
own  terms.  Temple  and  his  indefatigable  sister  imme- 
diately sailed  again  for  the  Hague,  and,  after  w.eathering 
a  violent  storm  in  which  they  were  very  nearly  lost, 
arrived  in  safety  at  the  place  of  their  destination. 

On  this  occasion,  as  on  every  other,  the  dealings 
between  Temple  and  De  Witt  were  singularly  fair  and 
open.  When  they  met,  Temple  began  by  recapitu- 
lating what  had  passed  at  their  last  interview.  De 
Witt,  who  was  as  little  given  to  lying  with  his  face  as 
with  his  tongue,  marked  his  assent  by  his  looks  while 
the  recapitulation  proceeded,  and,  when  it  was  con- 
cluded, answered  that  Temple's  memory  was  perfectly 
correct,  and  thanked  him  for  proceeding  in  so  exact 
and  sincere  a  manner.  Temple  then  informed  the 
Grand  Pensionary  that  the  King  of  England  had  deter- 
mined to  close  with  the  proposal  of  a  defensive  alliance. 
De  Witt  had  not  expected  so  speedy  a  resolution  ;  and 
Siis  countenance  indicated  surprise  as  well  as  pleasure. 
But  he  did  not  retract,  and  it  was  speedily  arranged 
hat  England  and  Holland  should  unite  for  the  purpose 


40  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

of  compelling  Lewis  to  abide  by  the  compromise  •which 
he  had  formerly  offered.  The  next  object  of  the  two 
statesmen  was  to  induce  another  government  to  become 
a  party  to  their  league.  The  victories  of  Gustavus  and 
Torstenson,  and  the  political  talents  of  Oxenstiern, 
had  obtained  for  Sweden  a  consideration  in  Europe, 
disproportioned  to  her  real  power :  the  princes  of 
Northern  Germany  stood  in  great  awe  of  her  ;  and  De 
"Witt  and  Temple  agreed  that  if  she  could  be  induced 
to  accede  to  the  league,  "  it  would  be  too  strong  a  bar 
for  France  to  venture  on."  Temple  went  that  same 
evening  to  Count  Dona,  the  Swedish  Minister  at  the 
Hague,  took  a  seat  in  the  most  unceremonious  manner, 
and,  with  that  air  of  frankness  and  good-will,  by  which 
he  often  succeeded  in  rendering  his  diplomatic  over- 
tures acceptable,  explained  the  scheme  which  was  in 
agitation.  Dona  was  greatly  pleased  and  flattered. 
He  had  not  powers  which  would  authorize  him  to  con- 
clude a  treaty  of  such  importance.  But  he  strongly 
advised  Temple  and  De  Witt  to  do  their  part  without 
delay,  and  seemed  confident  that  Sweden  would  accede. 
The  ordinary  course  of  public  business  in  Holland  was 
too  slow  for  the  present  emergency ;  and  De  Witt 
appeared  -to  have  some  scruples  about  breaking  through 
the  established  fonns.  But  the  urgency  and  dexterity 
of  Temple  prevailed.  The  States-General  took  the 
responsibility  of  executing  the  treaty  with  a  celerity 
unprecedented  in  the  annals  of  the  federation,  and 
indeed  inconsistent  with  its  fundamental  laws.  The 
state  of  public  feeling  was,  however,  such  in  all  the 
provinces,  that  this  irregularity  was  not  merely  par- 
doned but  applauded.  When  the  instrument  had  been 
formally  signed,  the  Dutch  Commissioners  embraced 
the  English  Plenipotentiary  with  the  warmest  exproa- 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  41 

«ons  of  kindness  and  confidence.  "  At  Breda,"  ex- 
claimed Temple,  "  we  embraced  as  friends,  here  as 
brothers." 

This  memorable  negotiation  occupied  only  five  days. 
De  Witt  complimented  Temple  in  high  terms  on  having 
effected  in  so  short  a  time  what  must,  under  other 
management,  have  been  the  work  of  months ;  and 
Temple,  in  his  despatches,  spoke  in  equally  high  terms 
of  De  Witt.  "  I  must  add  these  words,  to  do  M.  de 
Witt  right,  that  I  found  him  as  plain,  as  direct  and 
square  in  the  course  of  this  business  as  any  man  could 
be,  though  often  stiff  in  points  where  he  thought  any 
advantage  could  accrue  to  his  country ;  and  have  all 
the  reason  in  the  world  to  be  satisfied  with  him ;  and 
for  his  industry,  no  man  had  ever  more  I  am  sure. 
For  these  five  days  at  least,  neither  of  us  spent  any 
idle  hours,  neither  day  nor  night." 

Sweden  willingly  acceded  to  the  league,  which  is 
known  in  history  by  the  name  of  the  Triple  Alliance  ; 
and,  after  some  signs  of  ill-humour  on  the  part  of 
France,  a  general  pacification  was  the  result. 

The  Triple  Alliance  may  be  viewed  in  two  lights,  as 
a  measure  of  foreign  policy,  and  as  a  measure  of  domes- 
tic policy  ;  and  under  both  aspects  it  seems  to  us  deserv- 
ing of  all  the  praise  which  has  been  bestowed  upon  it. 

Dr.  Lingard,  who  is  undoubtedly  a  very  able  and 
well-informed  writer,  but  whose  great  fundamental 
rule  of  judging  seems  to  be  that  the  popular  opinion 
on  a  historical  question  cannot  possibly  be  correct, 
speaks  very  slightingly  of  this  celebrated  treaty  ;  and 
Mr.  Courtenay,  who  by  no  means  regards  Temple 
with  that  profound  veneration  which  is  generally  found 
•n  biographers,  has  conceded,  in  our  opinion,  far  too 
Siuch  to  Dr.  Lingard. 


42  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

The  reasoning  of  Dr.  Lingard  is  simply  tins.  The 
Triple  Alliance  only  compelled  Lewis  to  make  peace 
on  the  terms  on  which,  before  the  alliance  was  formed, 
he  had  offered  to  make  peace.  How  can  it  then  be 
said  that  this  alliance  arrested  his  career,  and  pre- 
served Europe  from  his  ambition  ?  Now,  this  reason- 
ing is  evidently  of  no  force  at  all,  except  on  the 
supposition  that  Lewis  would  have  held  himself  bound 
by  his  former  offers,  if  the  alliance  had  not  been  formed  ; 
and,  if  Dr.  Lingard  thinks  this  a  reasonable  supposi- 
tion, we  should  be  disposed  to  say  to  him,  in  the  words 
of  that  great  politician,  Mrs.  Western ;  "  Indeed, 
brother,  you  would  make  a  fine  plenipo  to  negotiate 
with  the  French.  They  would  soon  persuade  you 
that  they  take  towns  out  of  mere  defensive  principles." 
Our  own  impression  is  that  Lewis  made  his  offer  only 
in  order  to  avert  some  such  measure  as  the  Triple 
Alliance,  and  adhered  to  his  offer  only  in  consequence 
of  that  alliance.  •  He  had  refused  to  consent  to  an  ar- 
mistice. He  had  made  all  his  arrangements  for  a  win- 
ter campaign.  In  the  very  week  in  which  Temple  and 
the  States  concluded  their  agreement  at  the  Hague, 
Franche  Cerate"  was  attacked  by  the  French  armies, 
and  in  three  weeks  the  whole  province  was  conquered. 
Tliis  prey  Lewis  was  compelled  to  disgorge.  And 
what  compelled  him  ?  Did  the  object  seem  to  him 
small  or  contemptible  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  an- 
nexation of  Franche  Comtd  to  has  kingdom  was  one 
of  the  favourite  projects  of  his  life.  Was  he  withheld 
by  regard  for  his  word  ?  Did  he,  who  never  in  any 
other  transaction  of  his  reign  showed  the  smallest  re- 
spect for  the  most  solemn  obligations  of  public  faith, 
who  violated  the  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees,  who  violated 
the  Treaty  of  Aix,  who  violated  the  Treaty  of 


SIR    WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  43 

guen,  who  violated  the  Partition  Treaty,  who  violated 
the  Treaty  of  Utrecht,  feel  himself  restrained  by  liig 
word  on  tin's  single  occasion  ?  Can  any  person  who 
is  acquainted  with  his  character  and  with  his  whole 
policy  doubt  that,  if  the  neighbouring  powers  would 
have  looked  quietly  on,  he  would  instantly  have 
risen  in  his  demands  ?  How  then  stands  the  case  ? 
He  wished  to  keep  Franche  Comte.  It  was  not  from 
regard  to  his  word  that  he  ceded  Franche  Comtek 
Why  then  did  he  cede  Franche  Cornte"  ?  We  answer, 
as  all  Europe  answered  at  the  time,  from  fear  of  the 
Triple  Alliance. 

But  grant  that  Lewis  was  not  really  stopped  in  his 
progress  hy  this  famous  league ;  still  it  is  certain  that 
the  world  then,  and  long  after,  believed  that  he  Avas  so 
stopped,  and  that  this  was  the  prevailing  impression  in 
France  as  well  as  in  other  countries.  Temple,  there- 
fore, at  the  very  least,  succeeded  in  raising  the  credit  of 
his  country,  and  in  lowering  the  credit  of  a  rival  power. 
Here:  there  is  no  room  for  controversy.  No  grubbing 
among  old  state-papers  will  ever  bring  to  light  any  doc- 
ument which  will  shake  these  facts  ;  that  Europe  be- 
lieved the  ambition  of  France  to  have  been  curbed  by 
the  three  powers  ;  that  England,  a  few  months  before 
the  last  among  the  nations,  forced  to  abandon  her  own 
seas,  unable  to  defend  the  mouths  of  her  own  rivers, 
regained  almost  as  high  a  place  in  the  estimation  of  her 
neighbours  as  she  had  held  in  the  times  of  Elizabeth 
aiul  Oliver  ;  and  that  all  this  change  of  opinion  was 
produced  in  five  days  by  wise  and  resolute  counsels, 
without  the  firing  of  a  single  gun.  That  the  Triple 
Alliance  effected  this  will  hardly  be  disputed;  and 
Uierefore,  even  if  it  effected  nothing  else,  it  mast  still 
^e  regarded  as  a  master-piece  of  diplomacy. 


44  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Considered  as  a  measure  of  domestic  policy,  this 
treaty  seoms  to  be  equally  deserving  of  approbation. 
It  did  much  to  allay  discontents,  to  reconcile  the  sover- 
eign with  a  people  who  had,  under  his  wretched  admin- 
istration, become  ashamed  of  him  and  of  themselves, 
It  was  a  kind  of  pledge  for  internal  good  government. 
The  foreign  relations  of  the  kingdom  had  at  that  time 
the  closest  connection  with  our  domestic  policy.  From 
the  Restoration  to  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Han- 
over, Holland  and  France  were  to  England  what  the 
right-hand  horseman  and  the  left-hand  horseman  in 
Burger's  fine  ballad  were  to  the  Wildgraf,  the  good 
and  the  evil  counsellor,  the  angel  of  light  and  the  angel 
of  darkness.  The  ascendency  of  France  was  insepara- 
bly connected  with  the  prevalence  of  tyranny  in  domes- 
tic affairs.  The  ascendency  of  Holland  was  as  insepa- 
rably connected  with  the  prevalence  of  political  liberty 
and  of  mutual  toleration  among  Protestant  sects.  How 
fatal  and  degrading  an  influence  Lewis  was  destined  to 
exercise  on  the  British  counsels,  how  great  a  deliver- 
ance our  country  was  destined  to  owe  to  the  States, 
could  not  be  foreseen  when  the  Triple  Alliance  was 
concluded.  Yet  even  then  all  discerning  men  consid- 
ered it  as  a  good  omen  for  the  English  constitution  and 
the  reformed  religion,  that  the  Government  had  attached 
itself  to  Holland,  and  had  assumed  a  firm  and  somewhat 
hostile  attitude  towards  France.  The  fame  of  this 
measure  was  the  greater,  because  it  stood  so  entirely 
alone.  It  was  the  single  eminently  good  act  performed 
by  the  Government  during  the  interval  between  the 
Restoration  and  the  Revolution.1  Every  person  who 
had  the  smallest  part  in  it,  and  some  who  had  no  part 

1 "  The  only  good  public  thing  that  hnth  been  done  since  the  King  came 
Into  England."  — PKPYS'S  Diary,  February  14,  16G7-8. 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  45 

in  it  at  all,  battled  for  a  share  of  the  credit.  The  most 
parsimonious  republicans  were  ready  to  grant  money 
for  the  purpose  of  carrying  into  effect  the  provisions  of 
this  popular  alliance  ;  and  the  great  Tory  poet  of  that 
age,  in  his  finest  satires,  repeatedly  spoke  with  rever- 
ence of  the  "  triple  bond." 

This  negotiation  raised  the  fame  of  Temple  both  at 
home  and  abroad  to  a  great  height,  to  such  a  height, 
indeed,  as  seems  to  have  excited  the  jealousy  of  his 
friend  Arlington.  While  London  and  Amsterdam  re- 
sounded with  acclamations  of  joy,  the  Secretary,  in 
very  cold  official  language,  communicated  to  his  friend 
the  approbation  of  the  King ;  and,  lavish  as  the  Gov- 
ernment was  of  titles  and  of  monev,  its  ablest  servant 

•/    ' 

was  neither  ennobled  nor  enriched. 

Temple's  next  mission  was  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  where 
a  general  congress  met  for  the  purpose  of  perfecting  the 
work  of  the  Triple  Alliance.  On  his  road  he  received 
abundant  proofs  of  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held. 
Salutes  were  fired  from  the  walls  of  the  towns  through 
which  he  passed ;  the  population  poured  forth  into  the 
streets  to  see  him  ;  and  the  magistrates  entertained  him 
*with  speeches  and  banquets.  After  the  close  of  the 
negotiations  at  Aix  he  was  appointed  Ambassador  at 
the  Hague.  But  in  both  these  missions  he  experienced 
much  vexation  from  the  rigid,  and,  indeed,  unjust  parsi- 
mony of  the  Government.  Profuse  to  many  unworthy 
applicants,  the  Ministers  were  niggardly  to  him  alone. 
They  secretly  disliked  his  politics ;  and  they  seem  to 
have  indemnified  themselves  for  the  humiliation  of  adopt- 
ing his  measures,  by  cutting  down  his  salary  and  delay- 
ing the  settlement  of  his  outfit. 

At  the  Hague  he  was  received  with  cordiality  bj 
De  Witt,  and  with  the  most  signal  marks  of  respect  bj 


4-6  ^      SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

the  States-General.  His  situation  was  in  one  point  ex- 
tremely delicate.  The  Prince  of  Orange,  the  heredi- 
tary chief  of  the  faction  opposed  to  the  administration 
of  De  Witt,  was  the  nephew  of  Charles.  To  preserve 
the  confidence  of  the  ruling  party,  without  showing  any 
want  of  respect  to  so  near  a  relation  of  his  own  master, 
was  no  easy  task.  But  Temple  acquitted  himself  so 
well  that  he  appears  to  have  been  in  great  favour,  both 
with  the  Grand  Pensionary  and  with  the  Prince. 

In  the  main,  the  years  which  he  spent  at  the  Hague 
seem,  in  spite  of  some  pecuniary  difficulties  occasioned 
by  the  ill-will  of  the  English  Ministers,  to  have  passed 
very  agreeably.  He  enjoyed  the  highest  personal  con- 
sideration. He  was  surrounded  by  objects  interesting 
in  the  highest  degree  to  a  man  of  his  observant  turn  of 
mind.  He  had  no  wearing  labour,  no  heavy  responsi- 
bility ;  and,  if  he  had  no  opportunity  of  adding  to  his 
high  reputation,  he  ran  no  risk  of  impairing  it. 

But  evil  times  were  at  hand.  Though  Charles  had 
for  a  moment  deviated  into  a  wise  and  dignified  policy, 
his  heart  had  always  been  with  France  ;  and  France 
employed  every  means  of  seduction  to  lure  him  back.  t 
His  impatience  of  control,  his  greediness  for  money,  his 
passion  for  beauty,  his  family  affections,  all  his  tastes, 
all  his  feelings,  were  practised  on  with  the  utmost  dex- 
terity. His  interior  Cabinet  was  now  composed  of  men 
such  as  that  generation,  and  that  generation  alone,  pro- 
duced ;  of  men  at  whose  audacious  profligacy  the  ren- 
egades and  jobbers  of  our  own  time  look  with  the  same 
sort  of  admiring  despair  with  which  our  sculptors  con- 
template the  Theseus,  and  our  painters  the  Cartoons. 
To  be  a  real,  hearty,  deadly  enemy  of  the  liberties  and 
religion  of  the  nation  was,  in  that  dark  conclave,  an 
honourable  distinction,  a  distinction  which  belonged 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  47 

only  to  the  daring  and  impetuous  Clifford.  His  asso- 
ciates were  men  to  whom  all  creeds  and  all  constitutions 
were  alike ;  who  were  equally  ready  to  profess  the  faith 
of  Geneva,  of  Lambeth,  and  of  Rome ;  who  were 
equally  ready  to  be  tools  of  power  without  any  sense 
of  loyalty,  and  stirrers  of  sedition  without  any  zeal  for 
freedom. 

Jt  was  hardly  possible  even  for  a  man  so  penetrating 
as  De  "Witt  to  foresee  to  what  depths  of  wickedness  and 
infamy  this  execrable  administration  would  descend. 
Yet,  many  signs  of  the  great  woe  which  was  coming 
on  Europp.  the  visit  of  the  Duchess  of  Orleans  to  her 
brother,  the  unexplained  mission  of  Buckingham  to 
Paris,  the  sudden  occupation  of  Lorraine  by  the  French, 
made  the  Grand  Pensionary  uneasy ;  and  his  alarm  in- 
creased when  he  learned  that  Temple  had  received  or- 
ders to  repair  instantly  to  London.  De  Witt  earnestly 
pressed  for  an  explanation.  Temple  very  sincerely 
replied  that  he  hoped  that  the  English  Ministers  would 
adhere  to  the  principles  of  the  Triple  Alliance.  "I  can 
answer,"  he  said,  "only  for  myself.  But  that  I  can  do. 
If  a  new  system  is  to  be  adopted,  I  will  never  have  any 
part  in  it.  I  have  told  the  King  so ;  and  I  will  make 
my  words  good.  If  I  return  you  will  know  more:  4nd 
if  I  do  not  return  you  will  guess  more."  De  Witt  smiled, 
and  answered  that  he  would  hope  the  best,  and  would 
do  all  in  his  power  to  prevent  others  from  forming  un- 
favourable surmises. 

In  October,  1670,  Temple  reached  London ;  and  all 
his  worst  suspicions  were  immediately  more  than  con- 
firmed. He  repaired  to  the  Secretary's  house,  and  was 
kept  an  hour  and  a  half  waiting  in  the  ante-chainber, 
whilst  Lord  Ashley  was  closeted  with  Arlington.  When 
at  length  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  Arlington  waa 


i8  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

dry  and  cold,  asked  trifling  questions  about  the  voyage^ 
and  then,  in  order  to  escape  from  the  necessity  of  dis- 
cussing business,  called  in  his  daughter,  an  engaging 
little  girl  of  three  years  old,  who  was  long  after  de- 
scribed by  poets  "as  dressed  in  all  the  bloom  of  smiling 
nature,"  and  Avhom  Evelyn,  one  of  the  witnesses  of  her 
inauspicious  marriage,  mournfully  designated  as  "  ihe 
sweetest,  hopefullest,  most  beautiful  child,  and  most  vir- 
tuous too."  Any  particular  conversation  was  impossi- 
ble: and  Temple,  who  with  all  his  constitutional  or 
philosophical  indifference,  was  siifficiently  sensitive  on 
the  side  of  vanity,  felt  this  treatment  keenly.  The  next 
day  he  offered  himself  to  the  notice  of  the  King,  who 
was  snuffing  up  the  morning  air  and  feeding  his  ducks 
in  the  Mall.  Charles  was  civil,  but,  like  Arlington, 
carefully  avoided  all  conversation  on  politics.  Temple 
found  that  all  his  most  respectable  friends  were  entirely 
excluded  from  the  secrets  of  the  inner  council,  and  were 
awaiting  in  anxiety  and  dread  for  what  those  mysterious 
deliberations  might  produce.  At  length  he  obtained  a 
glimpse  of  light.  The  bold  spirit  and  fierce  passions 
of  Clifford  made  him  the  most  unfit  of  all  men  to  be 
the  keeper  of  a  momentous  secret.  He  told  Temple, 
with  great  vehemence,  that  the  States  had  behaved 
basely,  that  De  Witt  was  a  rogue  and  a  rascal,  that  it 
was  below  the  King  of  England,  or  any  other  king,  to 
have  any  thing  to  do  with  such  wretches ;  that  this 
ought  to  be  macfe  known  to  all  the  world,  and  that  it 
was  the  duty  of  the  Minister  at  the  Hague  to  declare  it 
publicly.  Temple  commanded  his  temper  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  replied  calmly  and  firmly,  that  he  should 
make  no  such  declaration,  and  that,  if  he  were  called 
upon  to  give  his  opinion  of  the  States  and  thei^  Minis- 
ters, he  would  say  exactly  what  he  thought. 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  49 

He  now  saw  clearly  that  the  tempest  was  gathering 
fast,  that  the  great  alliance  which  he  had  formed  and 
over  which  he  had  watched  with  parental  care  was 
about  to  be  dissolved,  that  times  were  at  hand  when  it 
would  be  necessary  for  him,  if  he  continued  in  public 
life,  either  to  take  part  decidedly  against  the  Court,  or 
to  forfeit  the  high  reputation  which  he  enjoyed  at  home 
and  abroad.  He  began  to  make  preparations  for  retir- 
ing altogether  from  business.  He  enlarged  a  little  gar- 
den which  he  had  purchased  at  Sheen,  and  laid  out 
some  money  in  ornamenting  his  house  there.  He  was 
still  nominally  ambassador  to  Holland ;  and  the  Eng- 
lish Ministers  continued  during  some  months  to  flatter 
the  States  with  the  hope  that  he  would  speedily  return. 
At,  length,  in  June,  1671,  the  designs  of  the  Cabal  were 
ripe.  The  infamous  treaty  with  France  had  been  rati- 
fied. The  season  of  deception  was  past,  and  that  of 
insolence  and  violence-  had  arrived.  Temple  received 
his  formal  dismission,  kissed  the  King's  hand,  was  repaid 
for  his  services  with  some  of -those  vague  compliments 
and  promises  which  cost  so  little  to  the  cold  heart,  the 
easy  temper,  and  the  ready  tongue  of  Charles,  and  qui- 
etly withdrew  to  his  little  nest,  as  he  called  it,  at  Sheen. 

There  he  amused  himself  with  gardening,  which  he 
practised  so  successfully  that  the  fame  of  his  fruit-trees 
soon  spread  far  and  wide.  But  letters  were  his  chief 
solace.  He  had,  as  AVC  have  mentioned,  been  from  his 
youth  in  the  habit  of  diverting  himself  with  compe- 
tition. The  clear  and  agreeable  language  of  his 
despatches  had  early  attracted  the  notice  of  his  employ- 
ers ;  and,  before  the  peace  of  Breda,  he  had,  at  the 
request  of  Arlington,  published  a  pamphlet  on  the  war, 
of  which  nothing  is  now  known,  except  that  it  had 
some  vogue  at  the  time,  and  that  Charles,  not  a  con- 

VOL.  IV. 


50  SIR  WILLIAM  TKilPLE. 

temptible  judge,  pronounced  it  to  be  very  well  written. 
Temple  Lad  also,  a  short  time  before  he  began  to  reside 
at  the  Hague,  written  a  treatise  on  the  state  of  Ireland, 
in  which  hs  showed  all  the  feelino-s  of  a  Cromweilian. 

o 

He  had  gradually  formed  a  style  singularly  lucid  and 
melodious,  superficially  deformed,  indeed,  by  Gallicisms 
and  Hispanicisms,  picked  up  in  tiavel  or  in  negotiation, 
but  at  the  bottom  pure  English,  which  generally  flowed 
along  with  careless  simplicity,  but  occasionally  rose 
even  into  Ciceronean  magnificence.  The  length  of 
his  sentences  has  often  been  remarked.  Biit  in  truth 
this  length  is  only  apparent.  A  critic  who  considers  as 
one  sentence  every  thing  that  lies  between  two  full 
stops  will  undoubtedly  call  Temple's  sentences  long. 
But  a  critic  who  examines  them  carefully  will  find  that 
they  are  not  swollen  by  parenthetical  matter,  that  their 
structure  is  scarcely  ever  intricate,  that  they  are  formed 
merely  by  accumulation,  and  that,  by  the  simple  pro- 
cess of  now  and  then  .leaving  out  a  conjunction, 
and  now  and  then  substituting  a  full  stop  for  a 
semicolon,  they  inight,  without  any  alteration  in  the 
order  of  the  words,  be  broken  up  into  very  short  periods, 
with  no  sacrifice  except  that  of  euphony.  The  long 
sentences  of  Hooker  and  Clarendon,  on  the  contrary, 
are  really  long  sentences,  and  cannot  be  turned  into 
short  ones,  without  being  entirely  taken  to  pieces. 

The  best  known  of  the  works  which  Temple  com- 
posed during  his  first  retreat  from  official  business  are 
an  Essay  on  Government,  which  seems  to  us  exceed- 
ingly childish,  and  an  Account  of  the  United  Provinces, 
which  we  value  as  a  master-piece  in  its  kind.  Who- 
ever compares  these  two  treatises  will  probably  agree 
with  us  in  thinking  that  Temple  was  not  a  very  deep 
>r  accurate  reasoner,  but  was  an  excellent  observer 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  51 

that  lie  had  no  call  to  philosophical  speculation,  bui 
that  he  was  qualified  to  excel  as  a  writer  of  Memoirs 
and  Travels. 

While  Temple  was  engaged  in  these  pursuits,  the 
great  storm  which  had  long  been  brooding  over  Europe 
burst  with  such  fury  as  for  a  moment  seemed  to 
tlireaten  ruin  to  all  free  governments  and  all  Protes- 
tant churches  France  and  England,  without  seeking 
for  any  decent  pretext,  declared  war  against  Holland^ 
The  immense  armies  of  Lewis  poured  across  the  Rhine, 
and  invaded  the  territory  of  the  United  Provinces. 
The  Dutch  seemed  to  be  paralysed  by  terror.  Great 
towns  opened  their  gates'  to  straggling  parties.  Regi- 
ments flung  down  their  arms  without  seeing  an  enemy. 
Guelderland,  Overyssel,  Utrecht  were  overrun  by  the 
conquerors.  The  fires  of  the  French  camp  were  seen 
from  the  walls  of  Amsterdam.  In  the  first  madness  of 
despair  the  devoted  people  turned  their  rage  against  the 
most  illustrious  of  their  fellow-citizens.  De  Ruyter 
was  saved  with  difficulty  from  assassins.  De  Witt  was 
torn  to  pieces  by  an  infuriated  rabble.  No  hope  was 
left  to  the  Commonwealth,  save  in  the  dauntless,  the 
ardent,  the  indefatigable,  the  unconquerable  spirit 
vhich  glowed  under  the  frigid  demeanour  of  the  young 
Prince  of  Orange. 

That  great  man  rose  at  once  to  the  full  dignity  of 
his  part,  and  approved  himself  a  worthy  descendant  of 
the  hue  of  heroes,  who  had  vindicated  the  liberties  of 
Eu-V0])3  against  the  house  of  Austria.  Nothing  could 
shake  his  fidelity  to  his  country,  not  his  close  connec- 
tion with  the  royal  family  of  England,  not  the  most 
earnest  solicitations,  not  the  most  tempting  offers.  The 
spirit  of  the  nation,  that  spirit  which  had  maintained 
the  great  conflict  against  the  gigantic  power  of  Philip 


52  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

revived  in  all  its  strength.  Counsels,  such  as  are  in« 
spired  by  a  generous  despair,  and  are  almost  always 
followed  by  a  speedy  dawn  of  hope,  were  gravely  eon- 
ctrted  by  the  statesmen  of  Holland.  To  open  thole 
dykes,  to  man  their  ships,  to  leave  their  country,  with 
all  its  miracles  of  art  and  industry,  its  cities,  its  canals, 
its  villas,  its  pastures,  and  its  tulip  gardens,  buried 
under  the  waves  of  the  German  ocean,  to  bear  to  a 
distant  climate  their  Calvinistic  faith  and  their  old  Ba- 
tavian  liberties,  to  fix,  perhaps  with  happier  auspices, 
the  new  Stadthouse  of  their  Commonwealth,  under 
other  stars,  and  amidst  a  strange,  vegetation,  in  the 
Spice  Islands  of  the  Eastern  seas  j  such  were  the  plans 
which  -they  had  the  spirit  to  form  ,  and  it  is  seldom  that 
men  who  have  the  spirit  to  form  such  plans  are  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  executing  them. 

The  Allies  had,  during  a  short  period,  obtained  suc- 
cess beyond  their  hopes.  This  was  their  auspicious 
moment.  They  neglected  to  improve  it.  It  passed 
away ;  and  it  returned  no  more.  The  Prince  of  Orange 
arrested  the  progress  of  the  French  armies.  Lewis 
returned  to  be  amused  and  flattered  at  Versailles.  The 
country  was  under  water.  The  winter  approached. 
The  weather  became  stormy.  The  fleets  of  the  com- 
bined kings  could  no  longer  keep  the  sea.  The  repub- 
lic had  obtained  a  respite ;  and  the  circumstances  were 
»uch  that  a  respite  was,  in  a  military  view,  important, 
in  a  political  view  almost  decisive. 

The  alliance  against  Holland,  formidable  as  it  was, 
vas  yet  of  such  a  nature  that  it  could  not  succeed  at 
all,  unless  it  succeeded  at  once.  The  English  Minis- 
ters could  not  carry  on  the  war  without  money.  They 
could  legally  obtain  money  only  from  the  Parliament ; 
•md  they  were  most  unwilling  to  call  the  Parliament 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  53 

together.  The  measures  which  Charles  had  adopted  at 
home  were  even  more  unpopular  than  his  foreign  policy. 
He  had  bound  himself  by  a  treaty  with  Lewis  to  rees- 
tablish the  Catholic  religion  in  England  ;  and,  in  pur- 
suance of  tliis  design,  he  had  entered  on  the  same  path 
which  his  brother  afterwards  trod  with  greater  obstinacy 
to  a  more  fatal  end.  The  King  had  annulled,  by  his 
own  sole  authority,  the  laws  against  Catholics  and  other 
dissenters.  The  matter  of  the  Declaration  of  Indul- 
gence exasperated  one  half  of  his  subjects,  and  the  man- 
ner the  other  half.  Liberal  men  would  have  rejoiced 
to  see  a  toleration  granted,  at  least  to  all  Protestant 
sects.  Many  high  churchmen  had  no  objection  to  the 
King's  dispensing  power.  But  a  tolerant  act  done  in  an 
unconstitutional  way  excited  the  opposition  of  all  who 
were  zealous  either  for  the  Church  or  for  the  privileges 
of  the  people,  that  is  to  say,  of  ninety-nine  English- 
men out  of  a  hundred.  The  ministers  were,  there- 
fore, most  unwilling  to  meet  ihe  Houses.  Lawless  and 
desperate  as  their  counsels  were,  the  boldest  of  them 
had  too  much  value  for  his  neck  to  think  of  res'orting 
to  benevolences,  privy-seals,  ship-money,  or  any  of  thd 
other  unlawful  modes  of  extortion  which  had  been  fa- 
miliar to  the  preceding  age.  The  audacious  fraud  of 
shutting  up  the  Exchequer  furnished  them  with  about 
twelve  lumdred  thousand  pounds,  a  sum  which,  even 
in  better  hands  than  theirs,  wrould  not  have  sufficed 
for  the  war-charges  of  a  single  year.  And  this  was 
a  step  which  could  never  be  repeated,  a  step  which, 
'iike  most  breaches  of  public  faith,  was  speedily  found 
Jo  have  caused  pecuniary  difficulties  greater  than  those 
which  it  removed.  All  the  money  that  could  be  raised 
was  gone ;  Holland  was  not  conquered :  and  the  King 
had  no  resource  but  in  a  Parliament. 


54  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE 

Had  a  general  election  taken  place  at  this  crisis,  i* 
is  probable  that  the  country  would  have  sent  up  repre- 
sentatives as  resolutely  hostile  to  the  Court  as  those 
who  met  in  November,  1640  ;  that  the  whole  domestic 
and  foreign  policy  of  the  Government  would  have 
been  instantly  changed  ;  and  that  the  members  of  the 
Caba]  would  have  expiated  their  crimes  on  Tower 
Hill.  But  the  House  of  Commons  was  still  the  samo 
which  had  been  elected  twelve  years  before,  in  the 
midst  of  the  transports  of  joy,  repentance,  and  loyalty 
which  followed  the  Restoration  ;  and  no  pains  had 
been  spared  to  attach  it  to  the  Court  by  places,  pen- 
sions, and  bribes.  To  the  great  mass  of  the  people  it 
was  scarcely  less  odious  than  the  Cabinet  itself.  Yet, 
though  it  did  not  immediately  proceed  to  these  strong 
measures  which  a  new  House  would  in  all  probability 
have  adopted,  it  was  sullen  and  unmanageable,  and 
undid,  slowly  indeed,  and  by  degrees,  but  most  ef- 
fectually, all  that  the  Ministers  had  done.  In  one 
session  it  annihilated  their  system  of  internal  govern- 
ment. In  a  second  session  it  gave  a  death-blow  to 
•their  foreign  policy. 

The  dispensing  power  was  the  first  object  of  attack. 
The  Commons  would  not  expressly  approve  the  war  ; 
but  neither  did  they  as  yet  expressly  condemn  it ;  and 
they  were  even  willing  to  grant  the  King  a  supply  for 
the  purpose  of  continuing  hostilities,  on  condition  that 
.Ve  would  redress  internal  grievances,  among  which 
the  Declaration  of  Indulgence  held  the  foremost  place. 

Shaftesbury,  who  was  Chancellor,  saw  that  the  game 
tvas  up,  that  he  had  got  all  that  was  to  be  got  by  siding 
with  despotism  and  Popery,  and  that  it  was  high  time 
to  think  of  being  a  demagogue  and  a  good  Protestant. 
The  Lord  Treasurer  Clifford  was  marked  out  by  his 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  55 

ooldness,  by  his  openness,  by  his  zeal  for  the  Catholic 
religion,  by  something  which,  compared  with  the  vil- 
lany  of  his  colleagues,  might  almost  be  called  honesty, 
to  be  the  scapegoat  of  the  whole  conspiracy.  The 
King  came  in  person  to  the  House  of  Peers  for  the 
purpose  of  requesting  their  Lordships  to  mediate  be- 
tween him  and  the  Commons  touching  the  Declaration 
of  Indulgence.  He  remained  in  the  House  while  his 
speech  was  taken  into  consideration  ;  a  common  prac- 
tice with  him  ;  for  the  debates  amused  his  sated  mind, 
and  were  sometimes,  he  used  to  say,  as  good  as  a 
comedy.  A  more  sudden  turn  his  Majesty  had  cer- 
tainly never  seen  in  any  comedy  of  intrigue,  either  at 
his  own  play-house,  or  at  the  Duke's,  than  that  which 
this  memorable  debate  produced.  The  Lord  Treasurer 
spoke  with  characteristic  ardour  and  intrepidity  in 
defence  of  the  Declaration.  When  he  sat  down,  the 
Lord  Chancellor  rose  from  the  woolsack,  and,  to  the 
amazement  of  the  King  and  of  the  House,  attacked 
Clifford,  attacked  the  Declaration  for  which  he  had 
\iimself  spoken  in  Council,  gave  up  the  whole  policy 
of  the  Cabinet,  and  declared  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  Even  that  age  had  not  witnessed 
:»D  portentous  a  display  of  impudence. 

The  King,  by  the  advice  of  the  French  Court,  which 
cared  much  more  about  the  war  on  the  Continent  than 
about  the  conversion  of  the  English  heretics,  deter- 
nined  to  save  his  foreign  policy  at  the  expense  of  lu's 
olans  in  favour  of  the  Catholic  church.  He  obtained 
a  supply  ;  and  in  return  for  this  concession  he  cancelled 
the  Declaration  of  Indulgence  and  made  a  formal  re- 
nunciation of  the  dispensing  power  before  he  prorogued 
the  Houses. 

But  it  was  no  more  in  his  power  to  go  on  with  the 


56  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

vrar  than  t:  maintain  his  arbitrary  system  at  home. 
His  Ministry,  betrayed  within,  and  fiercely  assailed 
from  without,  went  rapidly  to  pieces.  Clifford  threw 
down  the  white  staff,  and  retired  to  the  woods  of 
Ugbrook,  vowing,  with  bitter  tears,  that  he  would 
never  again  see  that  turbulent  city,  and  that  per- 
fidious Court.  Shaftesbury  was  ordered  to  deliver 
up  the  Great  Seal,  and  instantly  carried  over  his 
front  of  brass  and  his  tongue  of  poison  to  the  ranks 
of  the  Opposition.  The  remaining  members  of  the 
Cabal  had  neither  the  capacity  of  the  late  Chancellor, 
nor  the  courage  and  enthusiasm  of  the  late  Treasurer. 
They  were  not  only  unable  to  carry  on  their  former 
projects,  but  began  to  tremble  for  their  own  lands  and 
heads.  The  Parliament,  as  soon  as  it  again  met, 
began  to  murmur  against  the  alliance  with  France 
and  the  war  with  Holland  ;  and  the  murmur  gradually 
swelled  into  a  fierce  and  terrible  clamour.  Strong 
resolutions  were  adopted  against  Lauderdale  and  Buck- 
ingham. Articles  of  impeachment  were  exhibited 
against  Arlington.  The  Triple  Alliance  was  men- 
tioned with  reverence  in  eveiy  debate ;  and  the  eyes 
of  all  men  were  turned  towards  the  quiet  orchard, 
where  the  author  of  that  great  league  was  amusing 
himself  with  reading  and  gardening. 

Temple  was  ordered  to  attend  the  King,  and  was 
charged  with  the  office  of  negotiating  a  separate  peace 
with  Holland.  The  Spanish  Ambassador  to  the  Court 
of  London  had  been  empowered  by  the  States-General 
to  treat  in  their  name.  With  him  Temple  came  to  a 
speedy  agreement ;  and  in  three  days  a  treaty  was 
concluded. 

The  highest  honours  of  the  State  were  now  within 
Temple's  reach.  After  the  retirement  of  Clifford,  the 


SIB  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  67 

white  staff  had  heen  delivered  to  Thomas  Osbome, 
soon  after  created  Earl  of  Danby,  who  was  related  to 
Lady  Temple,  and  had,  many  years  earlier,  travelled 
and  played  tennis  with  Sir  William.  Danby  was  an 
interested  and  dishonest  man,  but  by  no  means  desti- 
tute of  abilities  or  of  judgment.  He  was,  indeed,  a 
far  better  adviser  than  any  in  whom  Charles  had  hith- 
erto reposed  confidence.  Clarendon  was  a  man  of  an- 
other generation,  and  did  not  in  the  least  understand 
the  society  which  he  had  to  govern.  The  members  of 
the  Cabal  were  ministers  of  a  foreign  power,  and  ene- 
mies of  the  Established  Church  ;  and  had  in  conse- 
quence raised  against  themselves  and  their  master 
an  irresistible  storm  of  national  and  religious  hatred. 
Danby  wished  to  strengthen  and  extend_  the  preroga- 
tive ;  but  he  had  the  sense  to  see  that  this  could  be 
done  only  by  a  complete  change  of  system.  He  knew 
the  English  people  and  the  House  of  Commons ;  and 
he  knew  that  the  course  which  Charles  had  recently 
taken,  if  obstinately  pursued,  might  well  end  before 
the  windows  of  the  Banqueting-House.  He  saw  thai 
the  true  policy  of  the  Crown  was  to  ally  itself,  not 
with  the  feeble,  the  hated,  the  down-trodden  Catholics, 
but  with  the  powerful,  the  wealthy,  the  popular,  the 
dominant  Church  of  England ;  to  trust  for  aid,  not  to 
a  foreign  Prince  whose  name  was  hateful  to  the  British 
nation,  and  whose  succours  could  be  obtained  only  on 
terms  of  vassalage,  but  to  the  old  Cavalier  party,  to 
the  landed  gentry,  the  clergy,  and  the  universities.  By 
rallying  round  the  throne  the  whole  strength  of  the 
Royalist^  and  High-Churchmen,  and  by  using  without 
stint  all  the  resources  of  corruption,  he  flattered  him- 
self that  he  could  manage  the  Parliament.  That  h« 
liiled  is  to  be  attributed  less  to  himself  than  to  his  mas- 


68  SIR  WILLIAM  TJLMi'LK. 

ter.  Of  the  disgraceful  dealings  which  wer"  stili  kept 
up  with  the  French  Court,  Danby  deserved  little  or 
none  of  the  blame,  though  he  suffered  the  whole  pun- 
ishment. 

Danby,  with  great  parliamentary  talents,  had  paid 
little  attention  to  European  politics,  and  wished  for  the 
help  of  some  person  ou  whom  he  could  rely  in  the  for- 
eign department.  A  plan  was  accordingly  arranged 
for  making  Temple  Secretary  of  State.  Arlington  was 
the  only  member  of  the  Cabal  who  still  held  office  in 
England.  The  temper  of  the  House  of  Commons 
made  it  necessary  to  remove  him,  or  rather  to  require 
him  to  sell  out ;  for  at  that  time  the  great  offices  of 
State  were  bought  and  sold  as  commissions  in  the  army 
now  are.  Temple  was  informed  that  he  should  have 
the  Seals  if  he  woidd  pay  Arlington  six  thousand 
pounds.  The  transaction  had  nothing  in  it  discredit- 
able, according  to  the  notions  of  that  age,  and  the  in- 
vestment would  have  been  a  good  one  ;  for  we  imagine 
that  at  that  time  the  gains  which  a  Secretary  of  State 
might  make,  without  doing  any  thing  considered  as 
improper,  were  very  considerable.  Temple's  friends 
offered  to  lend  him  the  money  ;  but  he  was  fully  deter- 
mined not  to  take  a  post  of  so  much  responsibility  in 
times  so  agitated,  and  under  a  Prince  on  whom  so  little 
reliance  could  be  placed,  and  accepted  the  embassy  to 
the  Hague,  leaving  Arlington  to  find  another  pur- 
chaser. 

Before  Temple  left  England  he  had  a  long  audience 
of  the  King,  to  whom  he  spoke  with  great  severity  of 
the  measures  adopted  by  the  late  Ministry.  The  Kiiig 
owned  that  things  had  turned  out  ill.  "  But,"  said  he, 
;;if  I  had  been  well  served,  I  rnigh*  have  made  a  good 
business  of  it."  Temple  was  alarmed  at  this  language, 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE  59 

and  inferred  from  it  that  the  system  of  the  Cabal  had 
not  been  abandoned,  but  only  suspended.  He  there- 
fore thought  it  his  duty  to  go,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  to 
the  bottom  of  the  matter."  He  strongly  represented  to 
the  King  the  impossibility  of  establisliing  either  absolute 
government,  or  the  Catholic  religion  in  England ;  and 
concluded  by  repeating  an  observation  •which  he  had 
heard  at  Brussels  from  M.  Gourville,  a  very  intelligent 
Frenchman  well  known  to  Charles  :  "  A  King  of  Eng- 
land," said  Gourville,  "  who  is  willing  to  be  the  man  of 
his  people,  is  the  greatest  king  in  the  world,  but  if  he 
wishes  to  be  more,  by  heaven  he  is  nothing  at  all !  " 
The  King  betrayed  some  symptoms  of  impatience  dur- 
ing this  lecture ;  but  at  last  he  laid  his  hand  kindly  on 
Temple's  shoulder,  and  said,  "  You  are  right,  and  so  is 
Gourville  ;  and  I  will  be  the  man  of  my  people." 

With  this  assurance  Temple  repaired  to  the  Hague 
in  July,  1674.  Holland  was  now  secure,  and  France 
was  surrounded  on  every  side  by  enemies.  Spain  and 
the  Empire  were  in  arms  for  the  purpose  of  compelling 
Lewis  to  abandon  all  that  he  had  acquired  since  the 
treaty  of  the  Pyrenees.  A  congress  for  the  purpose  of 
putting  an  end  to  the  war  was  opened  at  Nimegucn 
under  the  mediation  of  England  in  1675  ;  and  to  that 
congress  Temple  was  deputed.  The  work  of  concilia- 
tion, however,  went  on  very  slowly.  The  belligerent 
powers  were  still  sanguine,  and  the  mediating  power 
was  unsteady  and  insincere. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Opposition  in  England  became 
more  and  more  formidable,  and  seemed  fully  determined 
to  force  the  King  into  a  war  with  France.  Charles 
was  desirous  of  making  some  appointments  which  might 
strengthen  the  administration  and  conciliate  the  confi- 
ience  of  the  public.  No  man  was  more  esteemed  by 


60  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

the  nation  than  Temple ;  yet  he  had  never  been  con- 
cerned in  any  opposition  to  any  governn.ent.  In  July, 
1677,  he  was  sent  for  from  Nimeguen.  Charles  re- 
ceived him  with  caresses,  earnestly  pressed  him  to  ac- 
cept the  seals  of  Secretary  of  State,  and  promised  to 
bear  half  the  charge  of  buying  out  the  present  holder. 
Temple  was  charmed  by  the  kindness  and  politeness  of 
the  King's  manner,  and  by  the  liveliness  of  his  Majes- 
ty's conversation  ;  but  his  prudence  was  not  to  be  so 
laid  asleep.  He  calmly  and  steadily  excused  himself. 
The  King  affected  to  treat  his  excuses  as  mere  jests, 
and  gaily  said,  "  Go  ;  get  you  gone  to  Sheen.  We 
shall  have  no  good  of  you  till  you  have  been  there  ;  and 
when  you  have  rested  yourself,  come  up  again."  Tem- 
ple withdrew  and  staid  two  days  at  his  villa,  but  returned 
to  town  in  the  same  mind ;  and  the  King  was  forced  to 
consent  at  least  to  a  delay. 

But  while  Temple  thus  carefully  shunned  the  respon- 
sibility of  bearing  a  part  in  the  general  direction  of 
affairs,  he  gave  a  signal  proof  of  that  never-failing 
Eagacity  which  enabled  him  to  find  out  ways  of  distin- 
guishing himself  without  risk.  He  had  a  principal  share 
hi  bringing  about  an  event  which  was  at  the  time  hailed 
with  general  satisfaction,  and  which  subsequently  pro- 
duced consequences  of  the  highest  importance.  This 
was  the  marriage  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Lady 
Mary. 

In  the  following  year  Temple  returned  to  the  Hague  ; 
and  thence  he  was  ordered,  in  the  close  of  1G78,  to  re- 
pair to  Nimeguen,  for  the  purpose  of  signing  the  hollow 
and  unsatisfactory  treaty  by  which  the  distractions  of 
Europe  were  for  a  short  time  suspended.  He  grumbled 
much  at  being  required  to  affix  his  name  to  bad  articles 
which  he  had  not  framed,  raid  still  more  at  having  tc 


SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  61 

travel  in  very  cold  weather.  After  all,  a  diificulty  of 
etiquette  prevented  him  from  signing,  and  he  returned 
to  the  Hague.  Scarcely  had  he  arrived  there  when  he 
received  intelligence  that  the  King,  whos^e  embarrass- 
ments were  now  far  greater  than  ever,  was  fully  resolved 
immediately  to  appoint  him  Secretary  of  State.  He  a 
third  time  declined  that  high  post,  and  began  to  malic 
preparations  for  a  journey  to  Italy  ;  thinking,  doubtless-, 
that  he  should  spend  his  time  much  more  pleasantly 
among  pictures  and  ruins  than  in  such  a  whirlpool  of 
political  and  religious  frenzy  as  was  then  raging  in 
London. 

But  the  King  was  in  extreme  necessity,  and  was  no 
longer  to  be  so  easily  put  off.  Temple  received  positive 
orders  to  repair  instantly  to  England.  He  obeyed,  and 
found  the  country  in  a  state  ,even  more  fearful  than  that 
which  he  had  pictured  to  himself. 

Those  are  terrible  conjunctures,  when  the  discon- 
tents of  a  nation,  not  light  and  capricious  discontents, 
but  discontents  which  have  been  steadily  increasing 
during  a  long  series  of  years,  have  attained  their  full 
ma-turity.  The  discerning  few  predict  the  approach 
of  these  conjunctures,  but  predict  in  vain.  To  the 
many,  the  evil  season  comes  as  a  total  eclipse  of  the 
sun  at  noon  comes  to  a  people  of  savages.  Society 
which,  but  a  short  time  before,  was  in  a  state  of  per- 
fect repose,  is  on  a  sudden  agitated  with  the  moist 
fearful  convulsions,  and  seems  to  be  on  the  verge  <:f 
dissolution  ;  and  the  rulers  who,  till  the  mischief  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  ordinary  remedies,  had  never 
oestowed  one  thought  on  its  existence,  stand  bewildered 
vid  panic-stricken,  without  hope  or  resource,  in  the 
midst  of  the  confusion.  One  such  conjuncture  thia 
generation  has  seen.  God  grant  that  we  may  nevoi 


62  SHI  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

see  another !  At  such  a  conjuncture  it  was  that 
Temple  landed  on  English  ground  in  the  beginning  of 
1679. 

The  Parliament  had  obtained  a  glimpse  of  the 
King's  dealings  with  France ;  and  their  anger  had 
been  unjustly  directed  against  Danby,  whose  conduct 
as  to  that  matter  had  been,  on  the  whole,  deserving 
rather  of  praise  than  of  censure.  The  Popish  Plot, 
the  murder  of  Godfrey,  the  infamous  inventions  of 
Gates,  the  discovery  of  Colman's  letters,  had  excited 
the  nation  to  madness.  All  the  disaffection  which 
had  been  generated  by  eighteen  years  of  misgovern- 
ment  had  come  to  the  birth  together.  At  this  moment 

O 

the  King  had  been  advised  to  dissolve  that  Parliament 
which  had  been  elected  just  after  his  restoration,  and 
which,  though  its  composition  had  since  that  time 
been  greatly  altered,  was  still  far  more  deeply  imbued 
with  the  old  cavalier  spirit  than  any  that  had  pre- 
ceded, or  that  was  likely  to  follow  it.  The  general 
election  had  commenced,  and  was  proceeding  with  a 
degree  of  excitement  never  before  known.  The  tide 
ran  furiously  against  the  Court.  It  was  clear  thai  a 
majority  of  the  New  House  of  Commons  would  be,  to 
use  a  word  which  came  into  fashion  a  few  month,* 
later,  decided  Whigs.  Charles  had  found  it  necessary 
to  yield  to  the  violence  of  the  public  feeling.  The 
Duke  of  York  was  on  the  point  of  retiimg  to  Holland. 
*'  I  never,"  says  Temple,  who  had  setn  the  abolition 
of  monarchy,  the  dissolution  of  the  Lung  Parliament, 
the  fall  of  the  Protectorate,  the  declaration  of  Monk 
against  the  Rump,  "  I  never  saw  greater  disturbance 
in  men's  minds." 

The  King  now  with  the  utmost  urgency  besought 
Temple  to  take  the  seals.     The  pecuniary  part  of  the 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  (53 

arrangement  no  longer  presented  any  difficulty ;  and 
Sir  William  was  not  quite  so  decided  in  his  refusal  as 
he  had  formerly  been.  He  took  three  days  to  consider 
the  posture  of  affairs,  and  to  examine  his  own  feelings ; 
and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  "  the  scene  wag 
unfit  for  such  an  actor  as  he  knew  himself  to  be." 
Yet  he  felt  that,  by  refusing  help  to  the  King  at  such  a 
crisis,  he  might  give  much  offence  and  incur  much 
censure.  Pie  shaped  his  course  with  his  usual  dex- 
terity. He  affected  to  be  very  desirous  of  a  seat  in 
Parliament ;  yet  he  contrived  to  be  an  unsuccessful 
candidate ;  and,  when  all  the  writs  were  returned,  he 
represented  that  it  would  be  useless  for  him  to  take  the 
seals  till  he  could  procure  admittance  to  th-3  House  of 
Commons ;  and  in  this  manner  he  succeeded  in  avoid- 
ing the  greatness  which  others  desired  to  thrust  upon 
him. 

The  Parliament  met;  and  the  violence  of  its  pro- 
ceedings surpassed  all  expectation.  The  Long  Parlia- 
ment itself,  with  much  greater  provocation,  had  at  its 
commencement  been  less  violent.  The  Treasurer  was 
instantly  driven  from  office,  impeached,  sent  to  the 
Tower.  Sharp  and  vehement  votes  were  passed  on  the 
subject  of  the  Popish  Plot.  The  Commons  were  pre- 
pared to  go  much  further,  to  wrest  from  the  King  hia 
prerogative  of  mercy  in  cases  of  high  political  crimes, 
and  to  alter  the  succession  to  the  Crown.  Charles  waa 
thoroughly  perplexed  and  dismayed.  Temple  saw  him 
almost  daily,  and  thought  him  impressed  with  a  deep 
sense  of  his  errors,  and  of  the  miserable  state  into 
which  they  had  brought  him.  Their  conferences  be- 
came longer  and  more  confidential :  and  Temple  began 
to  flatter  himself  with  the  hope  that  he  might  be  able 
to  reconcile  parties  at  home  as  he  had  reconciled  hostile 


64  SIK  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

States  abroad ;  that  lie  might  be  able  to  suggest  a  plan 
which  should  allay  all  heats,  efface  the  memory  of  alj 
past  grievances,  secure  the  nation  from  misgovernment, 
and  protect  the  Crown  against  the  encroachments  of 
Parliament. 

Temple's  plan  was  that  the  existing  Privy  Council, 
which  consisted  of  fifty  members,  should  be  dissolved, 
that  there  should  no  longer  be  a  small  interior  council, 
like  that  which  is  now  designated  as  the  Cabinet,  that 
a  new  Privy  Council  of  thirty  members  should  be  ap- 
pointed, and  that  the  King  should  pledge  himself  to 
govern  by  the  constant  advice  of  this  body,  to  suffer  all 
his  affairs  of  every  kind  to  be  freely  debated  there,  and 
not  to  reserve  any  part  of  the  public  business  for  a 
secret  committee. 

Fifteen  of  the  members  of  this  new  council  were  to 
be  great  officers  of  State.  The  other  fifteen  were  to 
be  independent  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the  great- 
est weight  in  the  country.  In  appointing  them  par- 
ticular regard  was  to  be  had  to  the  amount  of  their 
property.  The  whole  annual  income  of  the  counsel- 
lors was  estimated  at  300,000?.  The  annual  income 
of  all  the  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  was  not 
supposed  to  exceed  400,000?.  The  appointment  of 
wealthy  counsellors  Temple  describes  as  "  a  chief  re- 
gard, necessary  to  this  constitution." 

This  plan  was  the  subject  of  frequent  conversation 
between  the^King  and  Temple.  After  a  month  passed 
in  discussions  to  which  no  third  person  appears  to  have 
been  privy  Charles  declared  himself  satisfied  of  the 
expediency  of  the  proposed  measure,  and  resolved  to 
?arry  it  into  effect. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Temple  has  left  us 
nr  account  of  these  conferences.  Historians  Lave, 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  65 

therefore,  been  left  to  form  their  own  conjectures  as  to 
the  object  of  this  very  extraordinary  plan,  "  this  Con- 
stitution," as  Temple  himself  calls  it.  And  we  cannot 
say  that  any  explanation  which  has  yet  been  given 
seems  to  us  quite  satisfactory.  Indeed,  almost  all  the 
writers  whom  we  have  consulted  appear  to  consider  the 
change  as  merely  a  change  of  administration,  and  so 
considering  it,  they  generally  applaud  it.  Mr.  Courte- 
nay,  who  has  evidently  examined  tliis  subject  with 
more  attention  than  has  often  been  bestowed  upon  it, 
seems  to  think  Temple's  scheme  very  strange,  unin- 
telligible, and  absurd.  It  is  with  very  great  diffidence 
that  we  offer  our  own  solution  of  what  we  have  always 
thought  one  of  the  great  riddles  of  English  history. 
We  are  strongly  inclined  to  suspect  that  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  new  Privy  Council  was  really  a  much 
more  remarkable  event  than  has  generally  been  sup- 
posed, and  that  what  Temple  had  in  view  was  to  effect, 
under  colour  of  a  change  of  administration,  a  perma- 
nent change  in  the  Constitution. 

The  plan,  considered  merely  as  a  plan  for  the  forma- 
tion of  a  Cabinet,  is  so  obviously  inconvenient,  that  we 
cannot  easily  believe  this  to  have  been  Temple's  chief 
object.  The  number  of  the  new  Council  alone  would 
be  a  most  serious  objection.  The  largest  cabinets  of 
modern  times  have  not,  we  believe,  consisted  of  more 
than  fifteen  members.  Even  this  number  has  generally 
been  thought  too  large.  The  Marquess  Wellesley, 
whose  judgment  on  a  question  of  executive  administra- 
tion is  entitled  to  as  much  respect  as  that  of  any  states- 
man that  England  ever  produced,  expressed,  during  the 
ministerial  negotiations  of  the  year  1812,  his  conviction 
ihat  even  thirteen  was  an  inconveniently  large  number. 
But  in  a  Cabinet  of  thirty  members  what  chance  could 


66  SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

there  be  of  finding  unity,  secrecy,  expedition,  any  of 
the  qualities  which  such  a  body  ought  to  possess  ?  If,  in- 
deed, the  members  of  such  a  Cabinet  were  closely 
bound  together  by  interest,  if  they  all  had  a  deep  stake 
in  the  permanence  of  the  Administration,  if  the  majority 
were  dependent  on  a  small  number  of  leading  men,  the 
thirty  might  perhaps  act  as  a  smaller  number  would  act, 
though  more  slowly,  more  awkwardly,  and  with  more 
risk  of  improper  disclosures.  But  the  Council  which 
Temple  proposed  was  so  framed  that  if,  instead  of  thirty 
members,  it  had  contained  only  ten,  it  would  still  have 
been  the  most  unwieldy  and  discordant  Cabinet  that 
ever  sat.  One  half  of  the  members  were  to  be  persons 
holding  no  office,  persons  who  had  no  motive  to  com- 
promise their  opinions,  or  to  take  any  share  of  the 
responsibility  of  an  unpopular  measure,  persons,  there- 
fore, who  might  be  expected,  as  often  as  there  might  be 
a  crisis  requiring  the  most  cordial  co-operation,  to  draw 
off  from  the  rest,  and  to  throw  every  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  the  public  business.  The  circumstance  that 
they  were  men  of  enormous  private  wealth  only  made 
the  matter  worse.  The  House  of  Commons  is  a  check- 
ing body ;  and  therefore  it  is  desirable  that  it  should,  to 
a  great  extent,  consist  of  men  of  independent  fortune, 
who  receive  nothing  and  expect  nothing  from  the  Gov- 
ernment. But  with  executive  boards  the  case  is  quite 
different.  Their  business  is  not  to  check,  but  to  act. 
The  veiy  same  things,  therefore,  which  are  the  virtues 
of  Parliaments  may  be  vices  in  Cabinets.  We  can 
hardly  conceive  a  greater  curse  to  the  country  than  an 
Administration,  the  members  of  which  should  be  -as 
perfectly  independent  of  each  other,  and  as  little  under 
the  necessity  of  making  mutual  concessions,  as  the  rep- 
resentatives of  London  and  Devonshire  in  the  Hou^  ^ 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  67 

Commons  are  and  ought  to  be.  Now  Temple's  new 
Council  was  to  contain  fifteen  members  wlio  were  tc 
hold  no  offices,  and  the  average  amount  of  whose  pri- 
vate estates  was  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year,  an  income 
which,  in  proportion  to  the  wants  of  a  man  of  rank  of 
that  period,  was  at  least  equal  to  thirty  thousand  a  year 
in  our  time.  Was  it  to  be  expected  that  such  men 
would  gratuitously  take  on  themselves  the  labour  and 
responsibility  of  Ministers,  and  the  unpopularity  which 
the  best  Ministers  must  sometimes  be  prepared  to  brave? 
Could  there  be  any  doubt  that  an  Opposition  would 
soon  be  formed  within  the  Cabinet  itself,  and  that  the 
consequence  would  be  disunion,  altercation,  tardiness  in 
operations,  the  divulging  of  secrets,  every  thing  most 
alien  from  the  nature  of  an  executive  council  ? 

Is  it  possible  to  imagine  that  considerations  so  grave 
and  so  obvious  should  have  altogether  escaped  the 
notice  of  a  man  of  Temple's  sagacity  and  experience  ? 
One  of  two  things  appears  to  us  to  be  certain,  either 
that  his  project  has  been  misunderstood,  or  that  his 
talents  for  public  affairs  have  been  overrated. 

We  lean  to  the  opinion  that  his  project  has  been 
misunderstood.  His  new  Council,  as  we  have  shown, 
would  have  been  an  exceedingly  bad  Cabinet.  The 
inference  which  we  are  inclined  to  draw  is  this,  that  he 
meant  his  Council  to  serve  some  other  purpose  than 
that  of  a  mere  Cabinet.  Barillon  used  four  or  five 
words,  which  contain,  we  think,  the  key  of  the  whole 
mystery.  Mr.  Courtenay  calls  them  pithy  words ;  but 
he  does  not,  if  we  are  right,  apprehend  their  whole 
force.  "  Ce  sont,"  said  Barillon,  "  des  Etats,  non  des 
tonscils." 

In  order  ciearly  to  understand  what  we  imagine  to 
oave  been  Temple's  views,  the  reader  must  remember 


68  Slh   WILLIAM   TEMPLE. 

that  the  Government  of  England  was  at  that  moment, 
and  had  been  during  nearly  eighty  years,  in  a  state  of 
transition.  A  change,  not  the  less  real  or  the  less 
extensive  because  disguised  under  ancient  names  and 
forms,  was  in  constant  progress.  The  theory  of  the 
Constitution,  the  fundamental  laws  which  fix  the  pow- 
ers of  the  three  branches  of  the  legislature,  underwent 
no  material  change  between  the  time  of  Elizabeth  and 
the  time  of  William  the  Third.  The  most  celebrated 
laws  of  the  seventeenth  centuiy  on  those  subjects,  the 
Petition  of  Right,  the  Declaration  of  Right,  are  purely 
declaratory.  They  purport  to  be  merely  recitals  of  the 
old  polity  of  England.  They  do  not  establish  free 
government  as  a  salutary  improvement,  but  claim  it  as 
an  undoubted  ai\d  immemorial  inheritance.  Neverthe- 
less, there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  during  the  period  of 
which  we  speak,  all  the  mutual  relations  of  all  the 
orders  of  the  State  did  practically  undergo  an  entire 
change.  The  letter  of  the  law  might  be  unaltered  ; 
but  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  centuiy,  the 
power  of  the  crown  was,  in  fact,  decidedly  predominant 
in  the  State  ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  century  the  power 
of  Parliament,  and  especially  of  the  Lower  House,  had 
become  in  fact,  decidedly  predominant.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century,  the  sovereign  perpetually  violated, 
with  little  or  no  opposition,  the  clear  privileges  of  Par- 
liament. At  the  close  of  the  century,  the  Parliament 
had  virtually  drawn  to  itself  just  as  much  as  it  chose  of 
the  prerogative  of  the  Crown.  The  sovereign  retained 
the  shadow  of  that  authority  of  which  the  Tudors  had 
held  the  substance.  He  had  a  legislative  veto  which 
he  never  ventured  to  exercise,  a  power  of  appointing 
Ministers,  whom  an  address  of  the  Commons  could  at 
any  moment  force  him  to  discard,  a  £  ower  of  declaring 


SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  09 

war  which,  without  Parliamentary  support,  could  not 
be  carried  on  for  a  single  day.  The  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment were  now  not  merely  legislative  assemblies,  not 
msieiy  checking  assemblies.  They  were  great  Coun- 
cils of  State,  whose  voice,  when  loudly  and  firmly 
raised,  was  decisive  on  all  questions  of  foreign  and 
domestic  policy.  There  was  no  part  of  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  Government  with  which  they  had  not  power  to 
interfere  by  advice  equivalent  to  command ;  and,  if 
they  abstained  from  intermeddling  with  some  depart- 
ments of  the  executive  administration,  they  were  with- 
held from  doing  so  only  by  their  own  moderation,  and 
by  the  confidence  which  they  reposed  in  the  Ministers 
of  the  Crown.  There  is  perhaps  no  other  instance  in 
history  of  a  change  so  complete  in  the  real  constitu- 
tion of  an  empire,  unaccompanied  by  any  correspond- 
ing change  in  the  theoretical  constitution.  The  dis- 
guised transformation  of  the  Roman  commonwealth 
into  a  despotic  monarchy,  under  the  long  administra- 
tion of  Augustus,  is  perhaps  the  nearest  parallel. 

This  great  alteration  did  not  take  place  without 
strong  and  constant  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  kings 
of  the  house  of  Stewart.  Till  1642,  that  resistance 
was  generally  of  an  open,  violent,  and  lawless  nature. 
If  the  Commons  refused  supplies,  the  sovereign  levied 
a  benevolence.  If  the  Commons  impeached  a  favourite 
minister,  the  sovereign  threw  the  chiefs  of  the  Opposi- 
tion into  prison.  .  Of  these  efforts  to  keep  down  the 
Parliament  by  despotic  force,  without  the  pretext  of 
law,  the  last,  the  most  celebrated,  and  the  most  wicked 
was  the  attempt  to  seize  the  five  members.  That 
attempt  was  the  signal  for  civil  war,  and  was  followed 
by  eiglteen  years  of  blood  and  confusion. 

The  Jays  of  trouble  passed  by  ;  the  exiles  returned  , 


70  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

the  throne  was  again  set  up  in  its  high  place ;  the  peer- 
age and  the  hierarchy  recovered  their  ancient  splen- 
dour. The  fundamental  laws  which  had  been  recited 
in  the  Petition  of  Right  were  again  solemnly  recog- 
nised. The  theory  of  the  English  constitution  was  the 
same  on  the  day  when  the  hand  of  Charles  the  Second 
was  kissed  by  the  kneeling  Houses  at  Whitehall  as  on 
the  day  when  his  father  set  up  the  royal  standard  at 
Nottingham.  There  was  a  short  period  of  doting  fond- 
ness, a  hysterica  passio  of  loyal  'repentance  and  love. 
But  emotions  of  this  sort  are  transitory  ;  and  the  in- 
terests on  which  depends  the  progress  of  great  societies 
are  permanent.  The  transport  of  reconciliation  was 
soon  over ;  and  the  old  struggle  recommenced. 

The  old  struggle  recommenced ;  but  not  precisely 
after  the  old  fashion.  The  sovereign  was  not  indeed 
a  man  whom  any  common  warning  would  have  re- 
strained from  the  grossest  violations  of  law.  But  it 
was  no  common  warning  that  he  had  received.  All 
around  him  were  the  recent  signs  of  the  vengeance  of 
an  oppressed  nation,  the  fields  on  which  the  noblest 
blood  of  the  island  had  been  poured  forth,  the  castles 
shattered  by  the  cannon  of  the  Parliamentary  armies, 
the  hall  where  sat  the  stern  tribunal  to  whose  bar  had 
been  led,  through  lowering  ranks  of  pikemen,  the  cap- 
tive heir  of  a  hundred  kings,  the  stately  pilasters  before 
which  the  great  execution  had  been  so  fearlessly  done 
in  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth.  The  restored  Prince, 
admonished  by  the  fate  of  his  father,  never  ventured  to 
attack  his  Parliaments  with  open  and  arbitrary  vio- 
lence. It  was  at  one  time  by  means  of  Lie  Parlia- 
ment itself,  at  another  time  by  means  of  the  courts  of 
law,  that  he  attempted  to  regain  for  the  Crown  its  old 
predominance.  He  began  with  great  advantages.  The 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  71 

Parliament  of  1661  was  called  while  the  nation  was 
still  full  of  joy  and  tenderness.  The  great  majority  of 
the  House  of  Commons  were  zealous  royalists.  All 
the  means  of  influence  which  the  patronage  of  the 
Crown  afforded  were  used  without  limit.  Bribery  \v;is 
reduced  to  a  system.  The  King,  when  he  could  spare 
money  from  his  pleasures  for  nothing  else,  could  spare 
it  for  purposes  of  corruption.  While  the  defence  of 
the  coasts  was  neglected,  while  ships  rotted,  while  arse- 
nals lay  empty,  while  turbulent  crowds  of  unpaid  sea- 
men swarmed  in  the  streets  of  the  seaports,  something 
could  still  he  scraped  together  in  the  Treasury  for  the 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  gold  'of 
France  was  largely  employed  for  the  same  purpose. 
Yet  it  was  found,  as  indeed  might  have  been  foreseen, 
that  there  is  a  natural  limit  to  the  effect  which  can  be 
produced  by  means  like  these.  There  is  one  thing 
which  the  most  corrupt  senates  are  unwilling  to  sell ; 
and  that  is  the  power  which  makes  them  worth  buying. 
The  same  selfish  motives  which  induced  them  to  take  a 
price  for  a  particular  vote  induce  them  to  oppose  every 
measure  of  which  the  effect  would  be  to  lower  the 
importance,  and  consequently  the  price,  of  their  votes. 
About  the  income  of  their  power,  so  to  speak,  thej 
are  quite  ready  to  make  bargains.  But  they  are  not 
easily  persuaded  to  part  with  any  fragment  of  the 
principal.  It  is  curious  to  observe  how,  during  the 
long  continuance  of  this  Parliament,  the  Pensionary 
Parliament,  as  it  was  nicknamed  by  contemporaries, 
though  every  circumstance  seemed  to  be  favourable 
to  the  Crown,  the  po^rer  of  the  Crown  was  con- 

^^  •*• 

Btantly  smking,  and  that  of  the  Commons  constantly 
rising.  The  meetings  of  the  Houses  were  more  fre- 
quent than  in  former  reigns ;  their  interference  was 


72  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

more  harassing  to  the  Government  than  in  former 
reigns  ;  they  had  begun  to  make  peace,  to  make  war, 
to  pull  down,  if  they  did  not  set  up,  administrations. 
Already  a  new  class  of  statesmen  had  appeared,  unheard 
of  before  that  time,  but  common  ever  since.  Under 
the  Tudors  and  the  earlier  Stuartc,  it  was  generally 
by  courtly  arts,  or  by  official  skill  and  knowledge, 
that  a  politician  raised  himself  to  power.  From  the 
time  of  Charles  the  Second  down  to  our  own  days  a 
different  species  of  talent,  parliamentary  talent,  has 
been  the  most  valuable  of  all  the  qualifications  of  an 
English  statesman.  It  has  stood  in  the  place  of  all  other 
acquirements.  It  has  covered  ignorance,  weakness, 
rashness,  the  most  fatal  maladministration.  A  great 
negotiator  is  nothing  when  compared  with  a  great 
debater;  and  a  minister  who  can  make  a  successful 
speech  need  trouble  himself  little  about  an  unsuccessful 
expedition.  This  is  the  talent  which  has  made  judges 
without  law,  and  diplomatists  without  French,  which 
has  sent  to  the  Admiralty  men  who  did  not  know  the 
stern  of  a  ship  from  her  bowsprit,  and  to  the  India 
Board  men  who  did  not  know  the  difference  between 
a  rupee  and  a  pagoda,  which  made  a  foreign  secretaiy 
of  Mr.  Pitt,  who,  as  George  the  Second  said,  had 
never  opened  Vattel,  and  which  was  very  near  making 
a  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  who 
could  not  work  a  sum  in  long  division.  This  was  the 
sort  of  talent  which  raised  Clifford  from  obscurity  to 
the  head  of  affairs.  To  this  talent  Osborne,  by  birth 
a  simple  country  gentleman,  owed  his  white  staff,  hia 
garter,  and  his  dukedom.  The  encroachment  of  the 
power  of  the  Parliament  on  the  power  of  the  Crown 
resembled  a  fatality,  or  the  operation  of  some  great 
law  of  nature.  The  will  of  the  individual  en  the 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  73 

throne,  or  of  the  individuals  in  the  two  Houses, 
seemed  to  go  for  nothing.  The  King  might  be  eager 
to  encroach ;  yet  something  constantly  drove  him 
back.  The  Parliament  might  be  loyal,  even  servile ; 
yet  something  constantly  urged  them  forward. 

These  things  were  done  in  the  green  tree.  What 
then  was  likely  to  be  done  in  the  dry  ?  The  Popish 
Plot  and  the  general  election  came  together,  and 
found  a  people  predisposed  to  the  most  violent  exci- 
tation. The  composition  of  the  House  of  Commons 
was  changed.  The  Legislature  was  filled  with  men 
who  leaned  to  Republicanism  in  politics,  and  to  Pres- 
byterianism  in  religion.  They  no  sooner  met  than 
they  commenced  an  attack  on  the  Government  which, 
if  successful,  must  have  made  them  supreme  in  the 
State. 

Where  was  this  to  end  ?  To  us  who  have  seen  the 
solution  the  question  presents  few  difficulties.  But 
to  a  statesman  of  the  age  of  Charles  the  Second,  to 
a  statesman  who  wished,  without  depriving  the  Parlia- 
ment of  its  privileges,  to  maintain  the  monarch  in  his 
old  supremacy,  it  must  have  appeared  very  perplexing. 

Clarendon  had,  when  Minister,  struggled,  honestly, 
perhaps,  but,  as  was  his  wont,  obstinately,  proudly, 
&nd  offensively,  against  the  growing  power  of  the 
Commons.  He  was  for  allowing  them  their  old 
authority,  and  not  one  atom  more.  He  would  never 
have  claimed  for  the  Crown  a  right  to  levy  taxes 
from  the  people  without  the  consent  of  Parliament. 
But  when  the  Parliament,  in  the  first  Dutch  war, 
most  properly  insisted  on  knowing  how  it  was  that 
the  money  which  they  had  voted  had  produced  so 
little  effect,  and  began  to  inquire  through  what  handa 
t  had  passed,  and  on  what  services  it  had  been  ex 

VOL.  IV.  4 


T4  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

pended,  Clarendon  considered  this  as  a  monstrous  inno- 
vation. He  told  the  King,  as  he  himself  says,  "  that 
he  could  not  be  too  indulgent  in  the  defence  of  the 
privileges  of  Parliament,  and  that  he  hoped  he  would 
never  violate  any  of  them  ;  but  he  desired  him  to  be 
equally  solicitous  to  prevent  the  excesses  in  Parliament, 
and  not  to  suffer  them  to  extend  their  jurisdiction  to 
cases  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  ;  and  that  to  re- 
strain them  within  their  proper  bounds  and  limits  is  as 
necessary  as  it  is  to  preserve  them  from  being  invaded  ; 
and  that  this  was  such  a  new  encroachment  as  had  no 
bottom."  This  is  a  single  instance.  Others  might 
easily  be  given. 

The  bigotry,  the  strong  passions,  the  haughty  and 
disdainful  temper,  which  made  Clarendon's  great  abilities 
a  source  of  utmost  unmixed  evil  to  himself  and  to  the 
public,  had  no  place  in  the  character  of  Temple.  To 
Temple,  however,  as  well  as  to  Clarendon,  the  rapid 
change  which  was  taking  place  in  the  real  working  of 
the  Constitution  gave  great  disquiet ;  particularly  as 
Temple  had  never  sat  in  the  English  Parliament,  and 
therefore  regarded  it  with  none  of  the  predilection  which 
men  naturally  feel  for  a  body  to  which  they  belong,  and 
for  a  theatre  on  which  their  own  talents  have  been  ad- 
vantageously displayed. 

To  wrest  by  force  from  the  House  of  Commons  its 
newly  acquired  powers  was  impossible ;  nor  was  Tem- 
ple a  man  to  recommend  such  a  stroke,  even  if  it  had 
oeen  possible.  But  was  it  possible  that  the  House  of 
Commons  might  be  induced  to  let  those  powers  drop  ? 
Was  it  possible  that,  as  a  great  revolution  had  been 
effected  without  any  change  in  the  outward  form  of  the 
Government,  so  a  great  counter-revolution  might  be 
sffected  in  the  same  manner  ?  Was  it  possible  that  the 


S1K  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  75 

Crown  and  the  Parliament  might  be  placed  in  nearly 
the  same  relative  position  in  which  they  had  stood  in 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  that  this  might  be  done 
without  one  sword  drawn,  without  one  execution,  and 
with  the  general  acquiescence  of  the  nation  ? 

The  English  people  —  it  was  probably  thus  that 
Temple  argued  —  will  not  bear  to  be  governed  by  the 
unchecked  power  of  the  sovereign,  nor  ought  they  to 
be  so  governed.  At  present  there  is  no  check  but  the 
Parliament.  The  limits  which  separate  the  power  of 
checking  those  who  govern  from  the  power  of  govern- 
ing are  not  easily  to  be  defined.  The  Parliament, 
therefore,  supported  by  the  nation,  is  rapidly  drawing 
to  itself  all  the  powers  of  Government.  If  it  were  pos- 
sible to  frame  some  other  check  on  the  power  of  the 
Crown,  some  check  which  might  be  less  galling  to  the 
sovereign  than  that  by  which  he  is  now  constantly  tor- 
mented, and  yet  which  might  appear  to  the  people  to 
be  a  tolerable  security  against  maladministration,  Parli- 
aments would  probably  meddle  less  ;  and  they  would  be 
*css  supported  by  public  opinion  in  their  meddling.  That 
the  King's  hands  may  not  be  rudely  tied  by  others,  he 
must  consent  to  tie  them  lightly  himself.  That  the  ex- 
ecutive administration  may  not  be  usurped  by  the  check- 
ing body,  something  of  the  character  of  a  checking 
body  must  be  given  to  the  body  which  conducts  the 
executive  administration.  The  Parliament  is  now  ar- 
rogating to  itself  every  day  a  larger  share  of  the  func- 
tions of  the  Privy  Council.  We  must  stop  the  evil  by 
giving  to  the  Privy  Council  something  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  a  Parliament.  Let  the  nation  see  that  all  the 
King's  measures  are  directed  by  a  Cabinet  composed  of 
representatives  of  eveiy  order  in  the  State,  by  a  Cabi- 
net which  contains,  not  placemen  alone,  but  indepen 


76  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

dent  and  popular  noblemen  and  gentlemen  who  have 
large  estates  and  no  salaries,  and  who  are  not  likely  to 
sacrifice  the  public  welfare  in  which  they  have  a  deep 
stake,  and  the  credit  which  they  have  obtained  with  the 
country,  to  the  pleasure  of  a  Court  from  which  they  re- 
ceive nothing.  When  the  ordinary  administration  i?  in 
such  hands  as  these,  the  people  will  be  quite  content  to 
see  the  Parliament  become,  what  it  formerly  was,  an 
extraordinary  check.  They  will  be  quite  willing  that 
the  House  of  Commons  should  meet  only  once  in  three 
years  for  a  short  session,  and  should  take  as  little  part 
in  matters  of  state  as  it  did  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Thus  we  believe  Hiat  Temple  reasoned :  for  on  this 
hypothesis  his  scheme  is  intelligible  ;  and  on  any  other 
hypothesis  his  scheme  appears  to  us,  as  it  does  to  Mr. 
Courtenay,  exceedingly  absurd  and  unmeaning.  This 
Council  was  strictly  what  Barillon  called  it,  an  As- 
sembly of  States.  There  are  the  representatives  of  all 
the  great  sections  of  the  community,  of  the  Church,  of 
the  law,  of  the  Peerage,  of  the  Commons.  The  exclu- 
sion of  one  half  of  the  counsellors  from  office  under 
the  Crown,  an  exclusion  which  is  quite  absurd  when 
we  consider  the  Council  merely  as  an  executive  board, 
becomes  at  once  perfectly  reasonable  when  we  consider 
the  Council  as  a  body  intended  to  restrain  the  Crown 
as  well  as  to  exercise  the  powers  of  the  Crown,  to 
perform  some  of  the  functions  of  a  Parliament  as  well 
as  the  functions  of  a  Cabinet.  We  see,  too,  why 
Temple  dwelt  so  much  on  the  private  wealth  of  the 
members,  why  he  instituted  a  comparison  between 
their  united  incomes  and  the  united  incomes  of  the 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons.  Such  a  parallel 
would  have  been  idle  in  the  case  of  a  mere  Cabinet. 
It  is  extremely  significant  in  the  case  of  a  body  in- 


SIR  WILLIAM   TEMPLE.  77 

tended  to  supersede  the  House  of  Commons  in  some 
\Tery  important  functions. 

We  can  hardly  help  thinking  that  the  notion  of  this 
Parliament  on  a  small  scale  was  suggested  to  Temple 
by  what  he  had  himself  seen  in  the  United  Provinces. 
The  original  Assembly  of  the  States-General  consisted, 
as  he  tells  us,  of  above  eight  hundred  persons.  But 
this  great  body  was  represented  by  a  smaller  Council 
of  about  thirty,  which  bore  the  name  and  exercised  the 
powers  of  the  States-General.  At  last  the  real  States 
altogether  ceased  to  meet ;  and  their  power,  though 
still  a  part  of  the  theory  of  the  Constitution,  became 
obsolete  in  practice.  We  do  not,  of  course,  imagine 
that  Temple  either  expected  or  wished  that  Parlia- 
ments should  be  thus  disused ;  but  he  did  expect,  we 
think,  that  something  like  what  had  happened  in 
Holland  would  happen  in  England,  and  that  a  large 
portion  of  the  functions  lately  assumed  by  Parliament 
would  be  quietly  transferred  to  the  miniature  Parlia- 
ment which  he  proposed  to  create. 

Had  this  plan,  with  some  modifications,  been  tried 
at  an  earlier  period,  in  a  more  composed  state  of  the 
public  mind,  and  by  a  better  sovereign,  we  are  by  no 
means  certain  that  it  might  not  have  effected  the  pur- 
pose for  which  it  was  designed.  -The  restraint  imposed 
on  the  King  by  the  Council  of  Thirty,  whom  he  had 
himself  chosen,  would  have  been  feeble  indeed  when 
compared  with  the  restraint  imposed  by  Parliament. 
But  it  would  have  been  more  constant.  It  would  have 
acted  every  year,  and  all  the  year  round ;  and  before 
ihe  Revolution  the  sessions  of  Parliament  were  short 
and  the  recesses  long.  The  advice  of  the  Council 
would  probably  have  prevented  any  very  monstrous 
jffld  scandalous  measiu-es;  and  would  consequently 


78  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

have  prevented  the  discontents  which  follow  such 
measures,  and  the  salutary  laws  which  are  the  fruit  of 
such  discontents.  We  believe,  for  example,  that  the 
second  Dutch  war  would  never  have  been  approved  by 
such  a  Council  as  that  which  Temple  proposed.  We 
are  quite  certain  that  the  shutting  up  of  the  Exchequer 
would  never  even  have  been  mentioned  in  such  a 
Council.  The  people,  pleased  to  think  that  Lord 
Russell,  Lord  Cavendish,  and  Mr.  Powle,  unplaced 
and  unpensioned,  were  daily  representing  their  griev- 
ances and  defending  their  rights  in  the  Royal  presence, 
would  not  have  pined  quite  so  much  for  the  meeting  of 
Parliaments.  The  Parliament,  when  it  met,  would 
have  found  fewer  and  less  glaring  abuses  to  attack. 
There  would  have  been  less  misgovernment  and  less 
reform.  We  should  not  have  been  cursed  with  the 
Cabal,  or  blessed  with  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act.  In 
the  mean  time  the  Council,  considered  as  an  executive 
Council,  wrould,  unless  some  at  least  of  its  powers  had 
been  delegated  to  a  smaller  body,  have  been  feeble, 
dilatory,  divided,  unfit  for  every  thing  which  requires 
secrecy  and  despatch,  and  peculiarly  unfit  for  the 
administration  of  war. 

The  revolution  put  an  end,  in  a  very  different  way, 
to  the  long  contest  between  the  King  and  the  Parlia- 
ment. From  that  tima.  the  House  of  Commons  has 
been  predominant  in  the  State.  The  Cabinet  has  really 
been,  from  that  time,  a  committee  nominated  by  the 
Crown  out  of  the  prevailing  party  in  Parliament. 
Though  the  minority  in  the  Commons  are  constantly 
proposing  to  condemn  executive  measures,  or  to  call  for 
papers  wliich  may  enable  the  House  to  sit  o  judgment 
in  such  measures,  these  propositions  are  scarcely  ever 
:?arried;  and,  if  a  proposition  of  this  kind  is  carried 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  79 

against  the  Government,  a  change  of  Ministry  almost 
necessarily  follows.  Growing  and  straggling  power 
always  gives  more  annoyance  and  is  more  unmanagea 
blc  than  established  power.  The  House  of  Commons 
gave  infinitely  more  trouble  to  the  Ministers  of  Charles 
the  Second  than  to  any  Ministers  of  later  times ;  for, 
in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second,  the  House  was 
checking  Ministers  in  whom  it  did  not  confide.  Now 
that  its  ascendency  is  fully  established,  it  either  confides 
in  Ministers  or  turns  them  out.  This  is  undoubtedly  a 
far  better  state  of  things  than  that  which  Temple  wished 
to  introduce.  The  modern  Cabinet  is  a  far  better  exec- 
utive Council  than  his.  The  worst  House  of  Commons 
that  has  sate  since  the  Revolution  was  a  far  more  effi- 
cient check  on  misgovernment  than  his  fifteen  indepen 
dent  counsellors  would  have  been.  Yet,  every  thing 
considered,  it  seems  to  us  that  his  plan  was  the  work  of 
an  observant,  ingenious,  and  fertile  mind. 

On  this  occasion,  as  on  every  occasion  on  which  he 
came  prominently  forward,  Temple  had  the  rare  good 
fortune  to  please  the  public  as  wrell  as  the  Sovereign. 
The  general  exultation  was  great  when  it  was  known 
tfiat  the  old  Council,  made  up  of  the  most  odious  tools 
of  power,  was  dismissed,  that  small  interior  committees, 
rendered  odious  by  the  recent  memory  of  the  Cabal, 
were  to  be  disused,  and  that  the  King  would  adopt  no 
measure  till  it  had  been  discussed  and  approved  by  a 
body,  of  which  one  half  consisted  of  independent  gen- 
tlemen and  noblemen,  and  in  which  such  persons  as 
Russell,  Cavendish,  and  Temple  himself  had  seats. 
Town  and  country  were  in  a  ferment  of  joy.  The 
Dells  were  rung ;  bonfires  were  lighted  ;  and  the  accla- 
mations of  England  were  echoed  by  the  Dutch,  who 
considered  the  influence  obtained  by  Temple  as  a  cer- 


PO  SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

tain  orm-n  of  good  for  Europe.  It  is,  indeed,  much  to 
the  honour  of  his  sagacity  that  every  one  of  his  great 
measures  should,  in  such  times,  have  pleased  every 
party  which  he  had  any  interest  in  pleasing.  This  was 
the  case  with  the  Triple  Alliance,  with  the  treaty  which 
concluded  the  second  Dutch  war,  with  the  marriage  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  and,  finally,  with  the  institution 
of  this  new  Council. 

The  only  people  who  grumbled  were  those  popular 
leaders  of  the  House  of  Commons  who  were  not  among 
the  Thirty  ;  and,  if  our  view  of  the  measure  be  correct, 
they  were  precisely  the  people  who  had  good  reason  to 
grumble.  They  were  precisely  the  people  whose  activ- 
ity and  whose  influence  the  new  Council  was  intended 
to  destroy. 

But  there  was  very  soon  an  end  of  the  bright  hopes 
and  loud  applauses  with  which  the  publication  of  tlm 
scheme  had  been  hailed.  The  perfidious  levity  of  the 
King  and  the  ambition  of  the  chiefs  of  parties  produced 
the  instant,  entire,  and  irremediable  failure  of  a  plan 
which  nothing  but  firmness,  public  spirit,  and  self-de- 
nial, on  the  part  of  all  concerned  in  it  could  conduct  to 
a  happy  issue.  Even  before  the  project  Avas  divulged, 
its  author  had  already  found  reason  to  apprehend  that 
it  would  fail.  Considerable  difficulty  was  experienced 
in  framing  the  list  of  counsellors.  There  were  two  men 
in  particular  about  whom  the  King  and  Temple  could 
not  agree,  two  men  deeply  tainted  with  the  vices  com- 
mon to  the  English  statesmen  of  that  age,  but  unri 
Called  in  talents,  address,  and  influence.  These  were 
ihe  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  and  George  Savile  Viscount 
Halifax. 

It  was  a  favourite  exercise  among  the  Greek  sophists 
*o  write  panegyrics  on  characters  proverbial  for  deprav- 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  81 

ity.  One  professor  of  rhetoric  sent  to  Isocrates  a 
panegyric  on  Busiris ;  and  Isocrates  himself  wrote 
another,  which  has  come  down  to  us.  It  is,  we  pre- 
sume, from  an  ambition  of  the  same  kind  that  some 
writers  have  lately  shown  a  disposition  to  eulogize 
Shaftesbury.  But  the  attempt  is  vain.  The  charges 
against  him  rest  on  evidence  not  to  be  invalidated  by 
any  arguments  which  human  wit  can  devise,  or  by  any 
information  which  may  be  found  in  old  trunks  and 
escrutoires. 

It  is  certain  that,  just  before  the  Restoration,  he 
declared  to  the  Regicides  that  he  would  be  damned, 
body  and  soul,  rather  than  suffer  a  hair  of  their  heads 
to  be  hurt,  and  that,  just  after  the  Restoration  he  was 
one  of  the  judges  who  sentenced  them  to  death.  It  is 
certain  that  he  was  a  principal  member  of  the  most 
profligate  Administration  ever  known,  and  that  he  was 
afterwards  a  principal  member  of  the  most  profligate 
Opposition  ever  known.  It  is  certain  that,  in  power, 
he  did  not  scruple  to  violate  the  great  fundamental 
principle  of  the  Constitution,  in  order  to  exalt  the  Cath- 
olics, and  that,  out  of  power,  he  did  not  scruple  to 
violate  every  principle  of  justice,  in  order  to  destroy 
them.  There  were  in  that  age  some  honest  men,  such 
as  William  Penn,  who  valued  toleration  so  highly  that 
they  would  willingly  have  seen  it  established  even  by 
Sin  illegal  exertion  of  the  prerogative.  There  were 
many  honest  men  who  dreaded  arbitrary  power  so 
.much  that,  on  account  of  the  alliance  between  Popery 
and  arbitrary  power,  they  were  disposed  to  grant  no 
toleration  to  Papists.  On  both  these  classes  we  look 
with  indulgence,  though  we  think  both  in  the  wrong. 
But  Shaftesbury  belonged  to  neither  class.  He  united 
ill  that  was  worst  in  both.  From  the  misguided 


82  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

friends  of  toleration  he  borrowed  their  conteoj  t  for  the 
Constitution,  and  from  the  misguided  friends  cf  ciril 
liberty  their  contempt  for  the  rights  of  conscience.  We 
never  can  admit  that  his  conduct  as  a  member  of  tbe 
Cabal  was  redeemed  by  his  conduct  as  a  leader  of 
Opposition.  On  the  contrary,  his  life  was  such  that 
every  part  of  it,  as  if  by  a  skilful  contrivance,  reflects 
infamy  on  every  other.  We  should  never  have  known 
how  abandoned  a  prostitute  he  was  in  place,  if  we 
had  not  known  how  desperate  an  incendiary  he  was 
out  of  it.  To  judge  of  him  fairly,  we  must  bear  in  mind 
that  the  Shaftesbury  who,  in  office,  was  the  chief 
author  of  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  was  the  same 
Shaftesbury  who,  out  of  office,  excited  and  kept  up  the 
savage  batred  of  the  rabble  of  London  against  the  very 
class  to  whom  that  Declaration  of  Indulgence  was  in- 

O 

tended  to  give  illegal  relief. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  the  excuses  that  are  made  for 
him.  We  will  give  two  specimens.  It  is  ackmnvl 
edged  that  he  was  one  of  the  Ministry  who  made  the 
alliance  with  France  against  Holland,  and  that  this 
alliance  was  most  pernicious.  What,  then,  is  the  de- 
fence ?  Even  this,  that  he  betrayed  his  master's  coun- 
sels to  the  Electors  of  Saxony  and  Brandenburg,  and 
tried  to  rouse  all  the  Protestant  powers  oif  Germany  to 
defend  the  States.  Again,  it  is  acknowledged  that  he 
was  deeply  concerned  in  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence, 
and  that  his  conduct  on  this  occasion  was  not  only 
unconstitutional,  but  quite  inconsistent  with  the  course 
wrhich  he  afterwards  took  respecting  the  professors  of 
the  Catholic  faith.  What,  then,  is  the  defence  ?  Even 
this,  that  he  meant  only  to  allure  concealed  Papists  to 
avow  themselves,  and  thus  to  become  open  marks  for 
the  vengeance  of  the  public.  As  often  as  he  is  charged 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  83 

with,  one  treason,  his  advocates  vindicate  him  by  con- 
fessing two.  They  had  better  leave  him  where  they 
find  him.  For  him  there  is  no  escape  upwards.  Every 
outlet  by  which  he  can  creep  out  of  his  present  position, 
is  one  which  lets  him  down  into  a  still  lower  and  foulei 
depth  of  infamy.  To  whitewash  an  Ethiopian  is  a 
proverbially  hopeless  attempt;  but  to  whitewash  an 
Ethiopian  by  giving  him  a  new  coat  of  blacking,  is  an 
enterprise  more  extraordinary  still.  That  in  the  course 
of  Shaftesbury's  dishonest  and  revengeful  opposition 
to  the  Court,  he  rendered  one  or  two  most  useful 
services  to  his  country  we  admit.  And  he  is,  we  think, 
fairly  entitled,  if  that  be  any  glory,  to  have  his  name 
eternally  associated  with  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  in  the 
same  way  in  which  the  name  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
is  associated  with  the  reformation  of  the  Church,  and 
that  of  Jack  Wilkes  with  the  most  sacred  rights  of 
electors. 

While  Shaftesbury  was  still  living,  his  character  was 
elaborately  drawn  by  two  of  the  greatest  writers  of  the 
age,  by  Butler,  with  characteristic  brilliancy  of  writ,  by 
Dryden,  with  even  more  than  characteristic  energy  and 
loftiness,  by  both  with  all  the  inspiration  of  hatred. 
The  sparkling  illustrations  of  Butler  have  been  thrown 
into  the  shade  by  the  brighter  glory  of  that  gorgeous 
satiric  Muse;  who  comes  sweeping  by  in  sceptred  pall, 
borrowed  from  her  more  august  sisters.  But  the 
descriptions  well  deserve  to  be  compared.  The  reader 
will  at  once  perceive  a  considerable  difference  between 
Butler's 

"  politician, 
With  more  heads  than  a  beast  in  vision." 

*nd  the  Ahithophel  of  Dryden.  Butler  dwells  on 
Shaftesbury's  unprincipled  versatility  :  on  his  wonder 


84  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

ftil  and  almost  instinctive  sliill  in  discerning  the  ap- 
proach of  a  change  of  fortune ;  and  on  the  dexterity 
with  which  he  extricated  himself  from  the  snares  in 
which  he  left  his  associates  to  perish. 

"  Our  state-artificer  foresaw 

Which  way  the  world  began  to  draw, 

For  as  old  sinners  have  all  points 

0'  th'  compass  in  their  bones  and  joints, 

Can  by  their  pangs  and  aches  find 

All  turns  and  changes  of  the  wind, 

And  better  than  by  Napier's  bones 

Feel  in  their  own  the  age  of  moons : 

So  guilty  sinners  in  a  state 

Can  by  their  crimes  prognosticate, 

And  in  their  consciences  feel  pain 

Some  days  before  a  shower  of  rain. 

He,  therefore,  wisely  cast  about 

All  ways  he  could  to  ensure  his  throat." 

In  Dryden's  great  portrait,  on  the  contrary,  violent 
passion,  implacable  revenge,  boldness  amounting  to 
temerity,  are  the  most  striking  features.  Ahithophel 
is  one  of  the  "  great  wits  to  madness  near  allied.".  And 
again  — 

"  A  daring  pilot  in  extremity, 
Pleased  with  the  danger  when  the  waves  went  high, 
He  sought  the  storms ;  but,  for  a  calm  unfit, 
Would  steer  too  nigh  the  sands  to  boast  his  wit."  * 

1It  has  never,  we  believe,  been  remarked,  that  two  of  the  most  striking 
lines  in  the  description  of  Ahithophel  are  borrowed  from  a  most  obscure 
quarter.  In  Knolles's  History  of  the  Turks,  printed  more  than  sixty  years 
before  the  appearance  of  Absalom  and  Ahithophel,  are  the  following  verses 
under  a  portrait  of  the  Sultan  Mustapha  the  First:  — 

"  Qreatnesse  on  goodnesse  loves  to  slide  not  stand, 
And  leaves  for  Fortune's  ice  Vertue's  firme  land." 

Dryden's  words  are  — 

"  But  wild  Ambition  loves  to  slide,  not  stand, 
And  Fortune's  ice  prefers  to  Virtue's  land." 

The  circumstance  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  Dryden  has  reallj 
>o  couplet  which  would  seem  to  a  good  critic  more  intensely  Drydenmn, 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  85 

The  dates  of  the  two  poems  will,  we  think,  explain 
this  discrepancy.  The  third  part  of  Hudibras  ap- 
peared in  1678,  when  the  character  of  Shaftesbury 
had  as  yet  but  imperfectly  developed  itself.  He  had, 
indeed,  been  a  traitor  to  every  party  in  the  State  ;  but 
his  treasons  had  hitherto  prospered.  Whether  it  were 
accident  or  sagacity,  he  had  timed  his  desertions  in  such 
a  manner  that  fortune  seemed  to  go  to  and  fro  with 
him  from  side  to  side.  The  extent  of  his  perfidy  was 
known  ;  but  it  was  not  till  the  Popish  Plot  furnished 
him  with  a  machinery  which  seemed  sufficiently  power- 
ful for  all  his  purposes,  that  the  audacity  of  his  spirit, 
and  the  fierceness  of  his  malevolent  passions,  became 
fully  manifest.  His  subsequent  conduct  showed  un- 
doubtedly great  ability,  but  not  ability  of  the  sort  for 
which  he  had  formerly  been  so  eminent.  He  was  now 
headstrong,  sanguine,  full  of  impetuous  confidence  in 
his  own  wisdom  and  his  own  good  luck.  He,  whose 
fame  as  a  political  tactician  had  hitherto  rested  chiefly 
on  his  skilful  retreats,  now  set  himself  to  break  down 
all  the  bridges  behind  him.  His  plans  were  castles 
in  the  air :  his  talk  was  rodomontade.  He  took  no 
thought  for  the  morrow  :  he  treated  the  Court  as  if  the 
King  were  already  a  prisoner  in  his  hands  :  he  built  on 
hie  favour  of  the  multitude,  as  if  that  favour  were  not 
proverbially  inconstant.  The  signs  of  the  coming  re- 
action were  discerned  by  men  of  far  less  sagacity  than 
his,  and  scared  from  his  side  men  more  consistent  than 
he  had  ever  pretended  to  be.  But  on  him  they  were 

loth  in  thought  and  expression,  than  this,  of  which  the  whole  thought, 
m,d  almost  the  whole  expression,  are  stolen. 

As  we  are  on  this  subject,  we  cannot  refrain  from  observing  that  Mr. 
Dourtenay  has  done  Dryden  injustice,  by  inadvertently  attributing  to  hire 
«me  feeble  lines  which  are  in  Tate's  part  of  Absalom  and  Ahithophel. 


86  SIR  ^YILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

lost.  Tlic  counsel  of  Ahithophel,  tliat  counsel  which 
was  as  if  a  man  had  inquired  of  the  oracle  of  God,  was 
turned  into  foolishness.  He  who  had  become  a  by- 
word, for  the  certainty  with  which  he  foresaw  and  the 
suppleness  with  Avhich  he  evaded  danger,  now,  when 
beset  on  every  side  with  snares  and  death,  seemed  to 
be  smitten  with  a  blindness  as  strange  as  his  former 

O 

clear-sightedness,  and,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left,  strode  straight  on  with  desperate  hardihood 
to  his  doom.  Therefore,  after  having  early  acquired 
and  long  preserved  the  reputation  of  infallible  wisdom 
and  invariable  success,  he  lived  to  see  a  mighty  ruin 
wrought  by  his  own  ungovernable  passions,  to  see  the 
great  party  which  he  had  led  vanquished,  and  scat- 
tered, and  trampled  down,  to  see  all  his  own  devilish 
enginery  of  lying  witnesses,  partial  sheriffs,  packed 
juries,  unjust  judges,  bloodthirsty  mobs,  ready  to  be 
employed  against  himself  and  his  most  devoted  follow- 
ers, to  fly  from  that  proud  city  whose  favour  had  almost 
raised  him  to  be  Mayor  of  the  Palace,  to  hide  himself 
in  squalid  retreats,  to  cover  his  grey  head  with  igno- 
minious disguises ;  and  he  died  in  hopeless  exile,  shel- 
tered, by  the  generosity  of  a  State  which  he  had  cruelly 
injured  and  insulted,  from  the  vengeance  of  a  master 
whose  favour  he  had  purchased  by  one  series  of  crimes, 
and  forfeited  by  another. 

Halifax  had,  in  common  with  Shaftesbury,  and  \\  ith 
almost  all  the  politicians  of  that  age,  a  very  loose  moral- 
ity \vhere  the  public  was  concerned  ;  but  in  Halifax  the 
prevailing  infection  wras  modified  by  a  very  peculiai 
constitution  both  of  heart  and  head,  by  a  temper  singu- 
larly free  from  gall,  and  by  a  refining  and  sceptical 
Dnderstanling.  He  changed  his  course  as  often  as 
Shaftesbuiy ;  but  he  did  not  change  it  to  the  same 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  87 

extent,  or  in  the  same  direction.  Shaftesbury  was  the 
very  reverse  of  a  trimmer.  His  disposition  led  him 
generally  to  do  his  utmost  to  exalt  the  side  which  was 
up,  and  to  depress  the  side  which  was  down.  His 
transitions  were  from  extreme  to  extreme.  While  he 
stayed  with  a  party  he  went  all  lengths  for  it :  when 
he  quitted  it  he  went  all  lengths  against  it.  Halifax 
was  emphatically  a  trimmer  ;  a  trimmer  both  by  intel- 
lect and  by  constitution.  The  name  was  fixed  on  him 
by  his  contemporaries  ;  and  he  was  so  far  from  being 
ashamed  of  it  that  he  assumed  it  as  a  badge  of  honour. 
He  passed  from  faction  to  faction.  But,  instead  of 
adopting  and  inflaming  the  passions  of  those  whom  he 
joined,  he  tried  to  diffuse  among  them  something  of 
the  spirit  of  those  whom  he  had  just  left.  While  he 
acted  with  the  Opposition  he  was  suspected  of  being  a 
spy  of  the  Court ;  and  when  he  had  joined  the  Court 
all  the  Tories  were  dismayed  by  his  Republican  doc- 
trines. 

He  wanted  neither  arguments  nor  eloquence  to  ex 
hibit  what  was  commonly  regarded  as  his  wavering 
policy  in  tjie  fairest  light.  He  trimmed,  he  said,  as  the 
temperate  zone  trims  between  intolerable  heat  and  intol- 
erable cold,  as  a  good  government  trims  between  despot- 
ism and  anarchy,  as  a  pure  church  trims  between  the 
errors  of  the  Papist  and  those  of  the  Anabaptist.  Nor 
was  this  defence  by  any  means  without  weight ;  for, 
though  there  is  abundant  proof  that  his  integrity  was 
net  of  strength  to  withstand  the  temptations  by  which 
his  cupidity  and  vanity  were  sometimes  assailed,  yet  his 
dislike  of  extremes,  and  a  forgiving  and  compassionate 
temper  which  seems  to  have  been  natural  to  him,  pre- 
served him  from  all  participation  in  the  worst  crimes  of 
his  time.  If  both  parties  accused  him  of  deserting 


38  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

them,  both  were  compelled  to  .admit  that  they  had  great 
obligations  to  his  humanity,  and  that,  though  an  uncer- 
tain friend,  he  was  a  placable  enemy.  He  voted  in 
favour  of  Lord  Stafford,  the  victim  of  the  Whigs ;  ha 
did  his  utmost  to  save  Lord  Russell,  the  victim  of  the 
Tories  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  we  are  inclined  to  think 
that  his  public  life,  though  far  indeed  from  faultless,  has 
as  few  great  stains  as  that  of  any  politician  who  took  an 
active  part  in  affairs  during  the  troubled  and  disastrous 
period  of  ten  years  which  elapsed  between  the  fall  of 
Lord  Danby  and  the  Revolution. 

His  mind  was  much  less  turned  to  particular  obser- 
vations, and  much  more  to  general  speculations,  than 
that  of  Shaftesbury.  Shaftesbury  knew  the  King,  the 
Council,  the  Parliament,  the  city,  better  than  Halifax  ; 
but  Halifax  would  have  written  a  far  better  treatise  on 
political  science  than  Shaftesbury.  Shaftesbury  shone 
more  in  consultation,  and  Halifax  in  controversy  : 
Shaftesbury  was  more  fertile  in  expedients,  and  Hali- 
fax in  arguments.  Nothing  that  remains  from  the  pen 
of  Shaftesbury  will  bear  a  comparison  with  the  political 
tracts  of  Halifax.  Indeed,  very  little  of  the  prose  of 
that  age  is  so  well  worth  reading  as  the  Character  of  a 
Trimmer  and  the  Anatomy  of  an  Equivalent.  What 
particularly  strikes  us  in  those  works  is  the  writer's 
passion  for  generalisation.  He  was  treating  of  the  most 
exciting  subjects  in  the  most  agitated  times :  he  was 
himself  placed  in  the  very  thick  of  the  civil  conflict ; 
yet  there  is  no  acrimony,  nothing  inflammatory,  nothing 
personal.  He  preserves  an  air  of  cold  superiority,  a 
certain  philosophical  serenity,  which  is  perfectly  marvel- 
lous. He  treats  every  question  as  an  abstract  question, 
begins  with  the  widest  propositions,  argues  those  propo- 
sitions on  general  grounds,  and  often,  when  he  hris 


^R  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  89 

brought  out  his  theorem,  leaves  the  reader  to  make  the 
application,  without  adding  an  allusion  to  particular 
men  or  to  passing  events.  This  speculative  turn  of 
mind  rendered  him  a  bad  adviser  in  cases  which  re- 
quired celerity.  He  brought  forward,  with  wonderful 
readiness  and  copiousness,  arguments,  replies  to  those 
arguments,  rejoinders  to  those  replies,  general  maxims 
cf  policy,  and  analogous  cases  from  history.  But 
Shaftesbury  was  the  man  for  a  prompt  decision.  Of 
the  parliamentary  eloquence  of  these  celebrated  rivals, 
we  can  judge  only  by  report ;  and,  so  judging,  we 
should  be  inclined  to  think  that,  though  Shaftesbury 
was  a  distinguished  speaker,  the  superiority  belonged  to 
Halifax.  Indeed  the  readiness  of  Halifax  in  debate, 
the  extent  of  his  knowledge,  the  ingenuity  of  his  rea- 
soning, the  liveliness  of  his  expression,  and  the  silver 
clearness  and  sweetness  of  his  voice,  seem  to  have  made 
the  strongest  impression  on  his  contemporaries.  By 
Diyden  he  is  described  as 

"  of  piercing  wit  and  pregnant  thought, 
Kmlucd  by  nature  and  by  learning  taught 
To  move  assemblies." 

His  oratory  is  utterly  and  irretrievably  lost  to  us,  like 
that  of  Somers,  of  Bolingbroke,  of  Charles  Townshend, 
of  many  others  who  were  accustomed  to  rise  amidst  the 
breathless  expectation  of  senates,  and  to  sit  down  amidst 
reiterated  bursts  of  applause.  But  old  men  who  lived 
to  admire  the  eloquence  of  Pulteney  in  its  meridian, 
and  that  of  Pitt  in  its  splendid  dawn,  still  murmured 
tfcat  they  had  heard  nothing  like  the  great  speeches  of 
Lord  Halifax  on  the  Exclusion  Bill.  The  power  of 
Shaftesbury  over  large  masses  was  unrivalled.  Halifax 
was  disqualified  by  his  whole  character,  moral  and  in- 
tellectual, for  the  part  of  a  demagogue.  It  was  in  smal] 


90  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

circles,  and,  abov<3  all,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  that  liia 
ascendency  was  felt. 

Shaftesbury  seems  to  have  troubled  himself  very 
little  about  theories  of  government.  Halifax  was,  in 
speculation,  a  strong  republican,  and  did  not  conceal  it. 
He  often  made  hereditary  monarchy  and  aristocracy 
the .  subjects  of  his  keen  pleasantry,  while  he  was 
fighting  the  battles  of  the  Court,  and  obtaining  for 
himself  step  after  step  in  the  peerage.  In  this  way,  he 
tried  to  gratify  at  once  his  intellectual  vanity  and  his 
more  vulgar  ambition.  He  shaped  his  life  according 
to  the  opinion  of  the  multitude,  and  indemnified  him- 
self by  talking  according  to  his  own.  His  colloquial 
powers  were  great ;  his  perception  of  the  ridiculous 
exquisitely  fine ;  and  he  seems  to  have  had  the  rare 
art  of  preserving  the  reputation  of  good  breeding  and 
good  nature,  while  habitually  indulging  a  strong  pro- 
pensity to  mockery. 

Temple  wished  to  put  Halifax  into  the  new  council, 
and  to  leave  out  Shaftesbury.  The  King  objected 
strongly  to  Halifax,  to  whom  he  had  taken  a  great 
dislike,  which  is  not  accounted  for,  and  which  did  not 
last  long.  Temple  replied  that  Halifax  was  a  man 
eminent  both  by  his  station  and  by  his  abilities,  and 
would,  if  excluded,  do  every  thing  against  the  new 
arrangement  that  could  be  done  by  eloquence,  sarcasm, 
and  intrigue.  All  who  were  consulted  were  of  the 
same  mind  ;  and  the  King  yielded,  but  not  till  Temple 
had  almost  gone  on  his  knees.  This  point  was  no 
sooner  settled  than  his  Majesty  declared  that  he  would 
have  Shaftesbury  too.  Temple  again  had  recourse  to 
entreaties  and  expostulations.  Charles  told  him  that 
the  enmity  of  Shaftesbury  wrould  be  at  least  as  for- 
midable as  that  of  Halifax  ',  and  this  was  true ;  but 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  91 

Temple  might  have  replied  that  by  giving  power  to 
Halifax  they  gained  a  friend,  and  that  by  giving  power 
to  Shaftesbury,  they  only  strengthened  an  enemy.  It 
was  vain  to  argue  and  protest.  The  King  only  laughed 
and  jested  at  Temple's  anger;  and  Shaftesbury  was 
not  only  sworn  of  the  Council,  but  appointed  Lord 
President. 

Temple  was  so  bitterly  mortified  by  this  step  that  he 
had  at  one  time  resolved  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  new  Administration,  and  seriously  thought  of  dis- 
qualifying himself  from  sitting  in  council  by  omitting  to 
take  the  Sacrament.  But  the  urgency  of  Lady 
Temple  and  Lady  Giffard  induced  him  to  abandon  that 
intention. 

The  Council  was  organized  on  the  twenty-first  of 
April,  1679  ;  and,  within  a  few  hours,  one  of  the 
fundamental  principles  on  which  it  had  been  con- 
structed was  violated.  A  secret  committee,  or,  in  the 
modern  phrase,  a  cabinet  of  nine  members,  was  formed. 
But,  as  this  committee  included  Shaftesbury  and  Mon- 
mouth,  it  contained  within  itself  the  elements  of  as 
much  faction  as  would  have  sufficed  to  impede  all 
business.  Accordingly  there  soon  arose  a  small  interior 
cabinet,  consisting  of  Essex,  Sunderland,  Halifax,  and 
Temple.  For  a  time  perfect  harmony  and  confidence 
subsisted  between  the  four.  But  the  meetings  of  the 

O 

thirty  were  stormy.  Sharp  retorts  passed  between 
Shaftesbury  and  Halifax,  who  led  the  opposite  parties. 
In  the  Council  Halifax  generally  had  the  advantage. 
But  it  soon  became  apparent  that  Shaftesbury  still  had 
»t  his  back  the  majority  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
The  discontents  which  the  change  of  Ministry  had  for 
&  moment  quieted  broke  forth  again  with  redoubled 
violence  ;  and  the  only  effect  which  the  late  measures 


92  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

appeared  to  have  produced  was  that  the  Lord  President, 
with  all  the  dignity  and  authority  belonging  to  his  high 
place,  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Opposition.  The  im- 
peachment of  Lord  Danhy  was  eagerly  prosecuted. 
The  Commons  were  determined  to  exclude  the  Uuke 
of  York  from  the  throne.  All  offers  of  compromise 
were  rejected.  It  must  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that, 
in  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  one  inestimable  law,  the 
only  benefit  which  England  has  derived  from  the 
troubles  of  that  period,  but  a  benefit  which  may  well 
be  set  off  against  a  great  mass  of  evil,  the  Habeas 
Corpus  Act,  was  pushed  through  the  Houses  and 
received  the  royal  assent. 

The  King,  finding  the  Parliament  as  troublesome  as 
ever,  determined  to  prorogue  it ;  and  he  did  so  without 
even  mentioning  his  intention  to  the  Council  by  whose 
advice  he  had  pledged  himself,  only  a  month  before,  to 
conduct  the  Government.  The  counsellors  were  gen- 
erally dissatisfied ;  and  Shaftesbury  swore  with  great 
vehemence,  that,  if  he  could  find  out  who  the  secret 
advisers  were,  he  would  have  their  heads. 

The  Parliament  rose  ;  London  was  deserted ;  and 
Temple  retired  to  his  villa,  whence,  on  council  clays,  he 
went  to  Hampton  Court.  The  post  of  Secretary  was 
again  and  again  pressed  on  him  by  his  master  and  by 
his  three  colleagues  of  the  inner  Cabinet.  Halifax,  in 
particular,  threatened  laughingly  to  burn  down  the 
house  at  Sheen.  But  Temple  was  immovable.  His 
short  experience  of  English  politics  had  disgusted  him ; 
and  he  felt  himself  so  much  oppressed  by  the  responsi- 
bility under  which  he  at  present  lay  that  he  had  no 
inclination  tc  add  to  the  load. 

When  the  term  fixed  for  the  prorogation  had  nearly 
expired,  it  became  necessary  to  consider  what  course 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  93 

shoild  be  taken.  The  King  and  his  four  confidential 
advisers  thought  that  a  new  Parliament  might  possibly 
be  more  manageable,  and  could  not  possibly  be  more 
refractory,  than  that  which  they  now  had,  and  they 
therefore  determined  on  a  dissolution.  But  when  the 
question  was  proposed  at  council,  the  majority,  jealous, 
it  should  seem,  of  the  small  directing  knot,  and  unwill- 
ing to  bear  the  unpopularity  of  the  measures  of  Gov- 
ernment, while  excluded  from  all  power,  joined  Shaftes- 
bury,  and  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  were  left  alone 
in  the  minority.  The  King,  however,  had  made  up  his 
mind,  and  ordered  the  Parliament  to  be  instantly  dis- 
solved. Temple's  council  was  now  nothing  more  than 
an  ordinary  privy  council,  if  indeed  it  were  not  some- 
thing less  ;  and,  though  Temple  threw  the  blame  of  this 
on  the  King,  on  Lord  Shaftesbury,  on  everybody  but 
himself,  it  is  evident  that  the  failure  of  his  plan  is  to  be 
chiefly  ascribed  to  its  own  inherent  defects.  His  coun- 
cil was  too  large  to  transact  business  which  required 
expedition,  secrecy,  and  cordial  co-operation.  A  Cab- 
inet was  therefore  formed  within  the  Council.  The 
Cabinet  and  the  majority  of  the  Council  differed  ;  and, 
as  was  to  be  expected,  the  Cabinet  carried  their  point. 
Four  votes  outweighed  six-and-twenty.  This  being 
the  case,  the  meetings  of  the  thirty  were  not  only  use- 
less, but  positively  noxious. 

At  the  ensuing  election,  Temple  was 'chosen  for  the 
university  of  Cambridge.  The  only  objection  that  waa 
mad^  to  him  by  the  members  of  that  learned  body  was 
that,  in  his  little  work  on  Holland,  he  had  expressed 
great  approbation  of  the  tolerant  policy  of  the  States ; 
and  this  blemish,  however  serious,  was  overlooked,  in 
consideration  of  his  high  reputation,  and  of  the  strong 
recommendations  with  which  he  was  furnished  by  the 
Court. 


94  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

During  the  summer  lie  remained  at  Slieen,  and 
amused  himself  with  rearing  melons,  leaving  to  the 
three  other  members  of  the  inner  Cabinet  the  whole 
direction  of  public  affairs.  Some  unexplained  cause 
began,  about  this  time,  to  alienate  them  from  him. 

o         '  * 

They  do  not  appear  to  have  been  made  angry  by  any 
part  of  his  conduct,  or  to  have  disliked  him  personally. 
But  they  had,  we  suspect,  taken  the  measure  of  his 
mind,  and  satisfied  themselves  that  he  was  not  a  man 
for  that  troubled  time,  and  that  he  would  be  a  mere 
incumbrance  to  them.  Living  themselves  for  ambition, 
they  despised  his  love  of  ease.  Accustomed  to  deep 
stakes  in  the  game  of  political  hazard,  they  despised  his 
piddling  play.  They  looked  on  his  cautious  measures 
with  the  sort  of  scorn  with  which  the  gamblers  at  the 
ordinary,  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novel,  regarded  Nigel's 
practice  of  never  toucliing  a  card  but  when  he  was 
certain  to  win.  He  soon  found  that  he  was  left  out  of 
their  secrets.  The  King  had,  about  this  time,  a  dan- 
gerous attack  of  illness.  The  Duke  of  York,  on 
receiving  the  news,  returned  from  Holland.  The 
sudden  appearance  of  the  detested  Popish  successor 
excited  anxiety  throughout  the  country.  Temple  was 
greatly  amazed  and  disturbed.  He  hastened  up  to 
London  and  visited  Essex,  who  professed  to  be  as- 
tonished and  mortified,  but  could  not  disguise  a  sneer- 
ing smile.  Temple  then  saw  Halifax,  who  talked  to 
him  much  about  the  pleasures  of  the  country,  the 
anxieties  of  office,  and  the  vanity  of  all  human  things, 
but  carefully  avoided  politics,  and  when  the  Duke's 
return  was  mentioned,  only  sighed,  shook  his  head, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  lifted  up  his  eyes  and 
hands.  In  a  short  time  Temple  found  that  his  two 
friends  had  been  laughing  at  him,  and  that  they  had 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  95 

themselves  sent  for  the  Duke,  in  order  that  his  Royal 
Highness  might,  if  the  King  should  die,  be  on  the  spot 
to  frustrate  the  designs  of  Monmouth. 

He  was  soon  convinced,  by  a  still  stronger  proof, 
that,  though  he  had  not  exactly  offended  his  master  or 
his  colleagues  in  the  Cabinet,  he  had  ceased  to  enjoy 
their  confidence.  The  result  of  the  general  election 
had  been  decidedly  unfavourable  to  the  Government ; 
ani  Shaftesbury  impatiently  expected  the  day  when 
the  Houses  were  to  meet.  The  King,  guided  by  the 
advice  of  the  inner  Cabinet,  determined  on  a  step  of 
the  highest  importance.  He  told  the  Council  that  he 
had  resolved  to  prorogue  the  new  Parliament  for  a 
year,  and  requested  them  not  to  object ;  for  he  had, 
he  said,  considered  the  subject  fully,  and  had  made  up 
his  mind.  All  who  were  not  in  the  secret  were  thun- 
derstruck, Temple  as  much  as  any.  Several  members 
rose,  and  entreated  to  be  heard  against  the  prorogation. 
But  the  King  silenced  them,  and  declared  that  his 
resolution  was  unalterable.  Temple,  much  hurt  at  the 
manner  in  which  both  himself  and  the  Council  had  been 
treated,  spoke  with  great  spirit.  He  would  not,  he 
said,  disobey  the  King  by  objecting  to  a  measure  on 
which  his  Majesty  was  determined  to  hear  no  argu- 
ment ;  but  he  would  most  earnestly  entreat  his  Maj- 
esty, if  the  present  Council  was  incompetent  to  give 
advice,  to  dissolve  it  and  select  another ;  for  it  was 
absurd  to  have  counsellors  who  did  not  counsel,  and 
who  were  summoned  only  to  be  silent  witnesses  of  the 
acts  of  others.  The  King  listened  courteously.  But 
the  members  of  the  Cabinet  resented  this  reproof 
•highly ;  and  from  that  day  Temple  was  almost  as  much 
estranged  from  them  as  from  Shaftesbury. 

He  wished  to  retire  altoo-ether  from  business.     But 


96  SIB  WILLIAM   TEMPLE. 

just  at  this  time  Lord  Russell,  Lord  Cavendish,  and 
some  other  counsellors  of  the  popular  party,  waited  on 
the  King  in  a  body,  declared  their  strong  disapproba- 
tion of  his  measures,  and  requested  to  be  excused  from 
attending  any  more  at  council.  Temple  feared  that  if, 
at  this  moment,  he  also  were  to  withdraw,  he  mi  "-lit  be 

O 

supposed  to  act  in  concert  with  those  decided  opponents 
of  the  Court,  and  to  have  determined  on  taking  a 
course  hostile  to  the  Government.  He,  therefore, 
continued  to  go  occasionally  to  the  board  ;  but  he  had 
no  longer  any  real  share  in  the  direction  of  public 
affairs. 

At  length  the  long  term  of  the  prorogation  ex- 
pired. In  October,  1680,  the  Houses  met;  and  the 
great  question  of  the  Exclusion  was  revived.  Few 
parliamentary  contests  in  our  history  appear  to  have 
called  forth  a  greater  display  of  talent ;  none  certainly 
ever  called  forth  more  violent  passions.  The  whole 
nation  was  convulsed  by  party  spirit.  The  gentlemen 
of  every  county,  the  traders  of  every  town,  the  boys 
of  every  public  school,  were  divided  into  exclusion ists 
and  abhorrers.  The  book-stalls  were  covered  with 
tracts  on  the  sacredness  of  hereditary  right,  on  the 
omnipotence  of  Parliament,  on  the  dangers  of  a  dis- 
puted succession,  on  the  dangers  of  a  Popish  reign. 
Tt  was  in  the  midst  of  this  ferment  that  Temple  took 
Uis  seat,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

The  occasion  was  a  very  great  one.  His  talents, 
his  long  experience  of  affairs,  his  unspotted  public 
character,  the  high  posts  which  he  had  filled,  seemed 
to  murk  him  out  as  a  man  on  whom  much  would 
depend.  He  acted  like  himself.  He  saw  that,  if  he 
supported  the  Exclusion,  he  made  the  King  and  the' 
heir  presumptive  his  enemies,  and  that,  if  he  opposed 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  9? 

t,  he  made  himself  an  object  of  hatred  to  the  un 
Scrupulous  and  turbulent  Shaftesbury.  He  neithei 
supported  nor  opposed  it.  He  quietly  absented  him- 
self from  the  House.  Nay,  he  took  care,  he  tells  us, 
never  to  discuss  the  question  in  any  society  whatever. 
Lawrence  Hyde,  afterwards  Earl  of  Rochester,  asked 
him  why  he  did  not  attend  in  his  place.  Temple 
replied  that  he  acted  according  to  Solomon's  advice, 
neither  to  oppose  the  mighty,  nor  to  go  about  to  stop 
the  current  of  a  river.  Hyde  answered,  "  You  are 
a  wise  and  a  quiet  man."  And  this  might  be  true. 
But  surely  such  wise  and  quiet  men  have  no  call  to  be 
members  of  Parliament  in  critical  times. 

A  single  session  was  quite  enough  for  Temple. 
When  the  Parliament  was  dissolved,  and  another 
summoned  at  Oxford,  he  obtained  an  audience  of 
the  King,  and  begged  to  know  whether  his  Majesty 
wished  him  to  continue  in  Parliament.  Charles, 
who  had  a  singularly  quick  eye  for  the  weaknesses 
of  all  who  came  near  him,  had  no  doubt  seen  through 
Temple,  and  rated  the  parliamentary  support  of  so 
cool  and  guarded  a  friend  at  its  proper  value.  He 
tnswered  good-naturedly,  but  we  suspect  a  little  con- 
temptuously, "  I  doubt,  as  things  stand,  your  coming 
into  the  House  will  not  do  much  good.  I  think  you 
may  as  well  let  it  alone."  Sir  William  accordingly 
informed  his  constituents  that  he  should  not  again 
apply  for  their  suffrages,  and  set  off  for  Sheen,  re- 
itolving  never  again  to  meddle  with  public  affairs. 
He  soon  found  that  the  King  was  displeased  with  him. 
Charles,  indeed,  in  his  usual  easy  way,  protested  that 
he  was  not  angry,  not  at  all.  But  in  a  few  days  he 
struck  Temple's  name  out  of  the  list  of  Privy  Coun- 
lellors.  Why  this  was  done  Temple  declares  himself 

VOL.  IV.  6 


98  SIR  "WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

unable  to  comprehend.  But  surely  it  hardly 
his  long  and  extensive  converse  with  the  world  to 
teach  'him  that  there  are  conjunctures  when  men  think 
that  all  who  are  not  with  them  are  against  them,  that 
there  are  conjunctures  when  a  lukewarm  friend,  who 
will  not  put  himself  the  least  out  of  his  way,  who  will 
make  no  exertion,  who  will  run  no  risk,  is  more  dis- 
tasteful than  an  enemy.  Charles  had  hoped  that  the 
fair  character  of  Temple  would  add  credit  to  an  un- 
popular and  suspected  Government.  But  his  Majesty 
soon  found  that  this  fair  character  resembled  pieces 
of  furniture  which  we  have  seen  in  the  drawing-rooms 
of  very  precise  old  ladies,  and  which  are  a  great  deal 
too  white  to  be  used.  This  exceeding  niceness  was 
altogether  out  of  season.  Neither  party  wanted  a  man 
who  was  afraid  of  taking  a  part,  of  incurring  abuse, 
of  making  enemies.  There  were  probably  many  good 
and  moderate  men  who  would  have  hailed  the  appear- 
ance of  a  respectable  mediator.  But  Temple  was  not 
a  mediator.  He  was  merely  a  neutral. 

At  last,  however,  he  had  escaped  from  public  life, 
and  found  himself  at  liberty  to  follow  his  favourite 
pursuits.  His  fortune  was  easy.  He  had  about  fif- 
;een  hundred  a  year,  besides  the  Mastership  of  the 
Rolls  in  Ireland,  an  office  in  which  he  had  succeeded 
his  father,  and  which  was  then  a  mere  sinecure  for 
life,  requiring  no  residence.  His  reputation  both  as 
a  negotiator  and  a  writer  stood  high.  He  resolved  to 
be  safe,  to  enjoy  himself,  and  to  let  the  world  take  ii» 
course  ;  and  he  kept  his  resolution. 

Darker  times  followed.  The  Oxford  Parliament  wa& 
dissolved.  The  Tories  were  triumphant.  A  terrible 
vengeance  was  inflicted  on  the  chiefs  of  the  Opposition 
Temple  learned  in  his  retreat  the  disastrous  fate  of  sev 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  99 

eral  of  his  old  colleagues  in  council.  Shaftesbury  fled 
to  Holland.  Russell  died  on  the  scaffold.  Essex  added 
a  yet  sadder  and  more  fearful  story  to  the  bloody  chron- 
icles of  the  Tower.  Momnouth  clung  in  agonies  of 
supplication  round  the  knees  of  the  stern  uncle  whom 
he  had  wronged,  and  tasted  a  bitterness  worse  than  that 
of  -death,  the  bitterness  of  knowing  that  he  had  hum- 
bled himself  in  vain.  A  tyrant  trampled  on  the  liber- 
ties and  religion  of  the  realm.  The  national  spirit 
swelled  high  under  the  oppression.  Disaffection  spread 
even  to  the  strongholds  of  loyalty,  to  the  cloisters  of 
Westminster,  to  the  schools  of  Oxford,  to  the  guard- 
room of  the  household  troops,  to  the  very  hearth  and 
bed-chamber  of  the  Sovereign.  But  the  troubles  which 
agitated  the  whole  country  did  not  reach  the  quiet 
Orangery  in  which  Temple  loitered  away  several  years 
without  once  seeing  the  smoke  of  London.  He  now 
and  then  appeared  in  the  circle  at  Richmond  or  Wind- 
sor. But  the  only  expressions  which  he  is  recorded  to 
have  used  during  these  perilous  times  were,  that  he 
would  be  a  good  subject,  but  that  he  had  done  with 
Dolitics. 

The  Revolution  came  :  he  remained  strictly  neutral 
during  the  short  struggle  ;  and  he  then  transferred  to 
\he  new  settlement  the  same  languid  sort  of  loyalty 
which  he  had  felt  for  his  former  masters.  He  paid 
court  to  William  at  Windsor,  and  William  dined  with 
him  at  Sheen.  But,  in  spite  of  the  most  pressing  solici- 
tations, Temple  refused  to  become  Secretary  of  State, 
The  refusal  evidently  proceeded  on'.y  from  his  dislike  of 
trouble  and  danger ;  and  not,  as  some  of  his  admirers 
would  have  us  believe,  from  any  scruple  of  conscience 
Dr  honour.  For  he  consented  that  his  son  should  take 
ihe  office  of  Secretaiy  at  War  under  the  new  Sovereign. 


100  SIB  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Tliis  unfortunate  young  man  destroyed  himself  within 
a  week  after  his  appointment,  from  vexation  at  finding 
that  his  advice  had  led  the  King  into  some  improper 
steps  with  regard  to  Ireland.  He  seems  to  have  inher- 
ited his  father's  extreme  sensibility  to  failure,  without 
that  singular  prudence  which  kept  his  father  out  of  all 
situations  in  which  any  serious  failure  was  to  Le  ap- 
prehended. The  blow  fell  heavily  on  the  family. 
They  retired  in  deep  dejection  to  Moor  Park,  which 
they  now  preferred  to  Sheen,  on  account  of  the  greater 
distance  from  London.  In  that  spot,1  then  very  se- 
cluded, Temple  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life.  The  air 
agreed  with  him.  The  soil  was  fruitful,  and  well  suited 
to  an  experimental  farmer  and  gardener.  The  grounds 
were  laid  out  with  the  angular  regularity  which  Sir 
William  had  admired  in  the  flower-beds  of  Haarlem 
and  the  Hague.  A  beautiful  rivulet,  flowing  from  the 
hills  of  Surrey,  bounded  the  domain.  But  a  straight 
canal  which,  bordered  by  a  terrace,  intersected  the  gar- 
den, was  probably  more  admired  by  the  lovers  of  the 
picturesque  in  that  age.  The  house  was  small,  but  neat 
and  well  furnished ;  the  neighbourhood  very  thinly  peo- 
pled. Temple  had  no  visitors,  except  a  few  friends  who 
were  willing  to  travel  twenty  or  thirty  miles  in  order 
to  see  him,  and  now  and  then  a  foreigner  whom  curi- 
osity brought  to  have  a  look  at  the  author  of  the  Triple 
A-lliance. 

Here,  in  May,  1694,  died  Lady  Temple.  From  the 
time  of  her  marriage  we  know  little  of  her,  except  that 
he;  letters  were  always  greatly  admired,  and  that  she 
Uad  the  honour  to  correspond  constantly  with  Queen 

1  Mr.  Court enay  (vol.  ii.  p.  160.)  confounds  Moor  Park  in  Sr.rrey,  where 
lernple  resided,  with  the  Mcor  Park  in  Hertfordshire,  which  is  praised  IB 
Vao  Essay  on  Gardening. 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  101 

Mary.  Lady  Giffard,  who,  as  far  as  appears,  had  al- 
ways been  on  the  best  terms  with  her  sister-in-law,  still 
continued  to  live  with  Sir  William. 

But  there  were  other  inmates  of  Moor  Park  to  whom 
a  far  higher  interest  belongs.  An  eccentric,  uncouth. 

o  o 

disagreeable  young  Irishman,  who  had  narrowly  escaped 
plucking  at  Dublin,  attended  Sir  William  as  an  aman- 
uensis, for  board  and  twenty  pounds  a  year,  dined  at 
the  second  table,  wrote  bad  verses  in  praise  of  his  em- 
ployer, and  made  love  to  a  very  pretty,  dark-eyed 
young  girl,  who  waited  on  Lady  Giffard.  Little  did 
Temple  imagine  that  the  coarse  exterior  of  his  depend- 
ent concealed  a  genius  equally  suited  to  politics  and  to 
letters,  a  genius  destined  to  shake  great  kingdoms,  to 
stir  the  laughter  and  the  rage  of  millions,  and  to  leave 
to  posterity  memorials  which  can  perish  only  with  the 
English  language.  Little  did  he  think  that  the  flirta- 
tion in  his  servants'  hall,  which  he  perhaps  scarcely 
deigned  to  make  the  subject  of  a  jest,  was  the  beginning 
of  a  long  unprosperous  love,  which  was  to  be  as  widely 
famed  as  the  passion  of  Petrarch  or  of  Abelard.  Sir 
William's  secretary  was  Jonathan  Swift.  Lady  Gif- 
fard's  waiting  maid  was  poor  Stella. 

Swift  retained  no  pleasing  recollection  of  Moor  Park. 
And  we  may  easily  suppose  a  situation  like  his  to  have 
been  intolerably  painful  to  a  mind  haughty,  irascible,  and 
conscious  of  preeminent  ability.  Long  after,  when  he 
stood  in  the  Court  of  Requests  with  a  circle  of  gartered 
peers  round  him,  or  punned  and  rhymed  with  Cabinet 
Ministers  over  Secretary  St.  John's  Monte-Pulciano, 
he  remembered,  with  deep  and  sore  feeling,  how  miser- 
able he  used  to  be  for  days  together  when  he  suspected 
that  Sir  William  had  taken  something  ill.  He  could 

O 

lardly  believe  that  he,  the  Swift  who  chid  the  Lord 


102  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

Treasurer,  rallied  the  Captain  General,  and  confronted 
the  pride  of  the  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire  with  pride 
Btill  more  inflexible,  could  be  the  same  being  who  had 
passed  nights  of  sleepless  anxiety,  in  musing  over  a  cross 
look  or  a  testy  word  of  a  patron.  "  Faith,"  he  wrote  to 
Stella,  with  bitter  levity,  "  Sir  "William  spoiled  a  fine 
gentleman."  Yet,  in  justice  to  Temple,  we  must  say 
that  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  Swift  was  more  un- 
happy at  Moor  Park  than  he  would  have  been  in  a  sim- 
ilar situation  under  any  roof  in  England.  We  think 
also  that  the  obligations  which  the  mind  of  Swift  owed 
to  that  of  Temple  were  not  inconsiderable.  Every  ju- 
dicious reader  must  be  struck  by  the  peculiarities  which 
distinguish  Swift's  political  tracts  from  all  similar  works 
produced  by  mere  men  of  letters.  Let  any  person  com- 
pare, for  example,  the  Conduct  of  the  Allies,  or  the 
Letter  to  the  October  Club,  with  Johnson's  False 
Alarm,  or  Taxation  no  Tyranny,  and  he  will  be  at 
once  struck  by  the  difference  of  which  we  speak. 
He  may  possibly  think  Johnson  a  greater  man  than 
Swift.  He  may  possibly  prefer  Johnson's  style  to 
Swift's.  But  he  will  at  once  acknowledge  that  John- 
son writes  like  a  man  who  has  never  been  out  of  his 
study.  Swift  writes  like  a  man  who  has  passed  his 
whole  life  in  the  midst  of  public  business,  and  to  whom 
the  most  important  affairs  of  state  are  as  familiar  as  his 
weekly  bills. 

"  Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 
Familiar  as  his  gai-ter." 

The  difference,  in  short,  between  a  political  pamphlet 
by  Johnson,  and  a  political  pamphlet  by  Swift,  is  ag 
great  as  the  difference  between  an  account  of  a  battle 
by  Mr.  Southey  and  the  account  of  the  same  battle  bj 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  103 

Colonel  Napier.  It  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  the  su- 
periority of  Swift  is  to  be,  in  a  great  measure,  attributed 
to  his  long  and  close  connection  with  Temple. 

Indeed,  remote  as  were  the  alleys  and  flower-pots  of 
Moor  Park  from  the  haunts  of  the  busy  and  the  ambi- 
tious, Swift  had  ample  opportunities  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  hidden  causes  of  many  great  events. 
William  was  in  the  habit  of  consulting  Temple,  and 
occasionally  visited  him.  Of  what  passed  between 
them  very  little  is  known.  It  is  certain,  however,  that 
when  the  Triennial  Bill  had  been  carried  through  the 
two  Houses,  his  Majesty,  who  was  exceedingly  unwill- 
ing to  pass  it,  sent  the  Earl  of  Portland  to  learn  Tem- 
ple's opinion.  Whether  Temple  thought  the  bill  in 
itself  a  good  one  does  not  appear  ;  but  he  clearly  saw 
how  imprudent  it  must  be  in  a  prince,  situated  as  AVil- 
liam  was,  to  engage  in  an  altercation  with  his  Parlia- 
ment, and  directed  Swift  to  draw  up  a'  paper  on  the 
subject,  which,  however,  did  not  convince  the  King. 

The  chief  amusement  of  Temple's  declining  years 
was  literature.  After  his  final  retreat  from  business 
he  wrote  his  very  agreeable  Memoirs,  corrected  and 
transcribed  many  of  his  letters,  and  published  several 
miscellaneous  treatises,  the  best  of  which,  we  think,  i? 
that  on  Gardening.  The  style  of  his  essays  is,  on  the 
whole,  excellent,  almost  always  pleasing,  and  now  and 
then  stately  and  splendid.  The  matter  is  generally  of 
much  less  value  ;  as  our  readers  will  readily  believe 
when  we  inform  them  that  Mr.  Courtenay,  a  biogra- 
pher, that  is  to  say,  a  literary  vassal,  bound  by  the 
immemorial  law  of  his  tenure  to  render  homage,  aids, 
reliefs,  and  all  other  customary  services  to  his  lord, 
•<vows  that  he  cannot  give  an  opinion  about  the  essay 
on  Heroic  Virtue,  because  he  cannot  read  it  without 


104  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

skipping ;  a  circumstance  which  strikes  us  as  peculiarly 
strange,  when  we  consider  how  long  Mr.  Courtenay 
was  at  the  India  Board,  and  how  many  thousand  par- 
agraphs of  the  copious  official  eloquence  of  the  East  he 
must  have  perused. 

-  One  of  Sir  William's  pieces,  however,  deserves  no- 
tice, not,  indeed,  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  merit, 
but  on  account  of  the  light  which  it  throws  on  some 
curious  weaknesses  of  his  character,  and  on  account 
of  the  extraordinary  effects  which  it  produced  in  the 
republic  of  letters.  A  most  idle  and  contemptible  con- 
troversy had  arisen  in  France  touching  the  compar- 
ative merit  of  the  ancient  and  modern  writers.  It  was 
certainly  not  to  be  expected  that,  in  that  age,  the  ques- 
tion would  be  tried  according  to  those  large  and  philo 
sophical  principles  of  criticism  which  guided  the  judg 
ments  of  Lessing  and  of  Herder.  But  it  might  have 
been  expected-that  those  who  undertook  to  decide  the 
point  would  at  least  take  the  trouble  to  read  and  under- 
stand the  authors  on  whose  merits  they  were  to  pro- 
nounce. Now  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that,  among 
the  disputants  who  clamoured,  some  for  the  ancients 
and  some  for  the  moderns,  very  few  were  decently 
acquainted  with  either  ancient  or  modern  literature, 
and  hardly  one  was  well  acquainted  with  both.  In 
Racine's  amusing  preface  to  the  IpM genie  the  reader 
may  find  noticed  a  most  ridiculous  mistake  into  which 
one  cf  the  champions  of  the  moderns  fell  about  a  pas- 
sage in  the  Alcestis  of  Euripides.  Another  writer  ia 
so  inconceivably  ignorant  as  to  blame  Homer  for  mix- 
ing the  four  Greek  dialects,  Doric,  Ionic,  ^Eolic,  and 
Attic,  just,  says  he,  as  if  a  French  poet  were  to  put 
Gascon  phrases  and  Picard  phrases  into  the  midst  of 
bis  pure  Parisian  writing.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  nc 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  105 

exaggeration  to  say  that  the  defenders  of  the  ancients 
were  entirely  unacquainted  with  the  greatest  produc- 
tions of  later  times ;  nor,  indeed,  were  the  defenders 
of  the  moderns  better  informed.  The  parallels  which 
were  instituted  in  the  course  of  this  dispute  are  inex- 
pressibly ridiculous.  Balzac  was  selected  as  the  rival 
of  Cicero.  Corneille  was  said  to  unite  the  merits  of 
aljschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides.  We  should  like 
to  see  a  Prometheus  after  Corneille's  fashion.  The 
Provincial  Letters,  masterpieces  undoubtedly  of  reason- 
ing, wit,  and  eloquence,  were  pronounced  to  be  superior 
to  all  the  writings  of  Plato,  Cicero,  and  Lucian  to- 
gether, particularly  in  the  art  of  dialogue,  an  art  in 
which,  as  it  happens,  Plato  far  excelled  all  men,  and  in 
.which  Pascal,  great  and  admirable  in  other  respects,  is 
notoriously  very  deficient. 

This  childish  controversy  spread  to  England ;  and 
some  mischievous  daemon  suggested  to  Temple  the 
thought  of  undertaking  the  defence  of  the  ancients. 
As  to  his  qualifications  for  the  task,  it  is  sufficient  to 
say,  that  he  knew  not  a  word  of  Greek.  But  his  vanity 
which,  when  he  was  engaged  in  the  conflicts  of  active 
life  and  surrounded  by  rivals,  had  been  kept  in  tolera- 
ble order  by  his  discretion,  now,  when  he  had  long 
lived  in  seclusion,  and  had  become  accustomed  to 
regard  himself  as  by  far  the  first  man  of  his  circle, 
rendered  him  blind  to  his  own  deficiencies.  In  an  evil 
hour  he  published  an  Essay  on  Ancient  and  Modern 
Learning.  The  style  of  this  treatise  is  very  good,  the 
matter  ludicrous  and  contemptible  to  the  last  degree. 
There  we  read  how  Lycurgus  travelled  into  India,  and 
brought  the  Spartan  laws  from  that  country  ;  how  Or- 
pheus made  voyages  in  search  of  knowledge,  and  at- 
tained to  a  depth  of  learning  which  has  made  him 


106  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

renowned  in  all  succeeding  ages ;  how  Pytliagorsa 
passed  twenty-two  years  in  Egypt,  and,  after  gradual- 
ing  there,  spent  twelve  years  more  at  Babylon,  AY  here 
the  Magi  admitted  him  ad  eundem ;  how  the  ancient 
Brahmins  lived  two  hundred  years  ;  how  the  earliest 
Greek  philosophers  foretold  earthquakes  and  plagues, 
and  put  down  riots  by  magic ;  and  how  much  Ninus 
surpassed  in  abilities  any  of  his  successors  on  the  throne 
of  Assyria.  The  moderns,  Sir  William  owns,  have 
found  but  the  circulation  of  the  blood ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  have  quite  lost  the  art  of  conjuring ; 
nor  can  any  modern  fiddler  enchant  fishes,  fowls,  and 
serpents,  by  his  performance.  He  tells  us  that  "  Thales, 
Pythagoras,  Democritus,  Hippocrates,  Plato,  Aristotle, 
and  Epicurus  made  greater  progresses  in  the  several 
empires  of  science  than  any  of  their  successors  have 
since  been  able  to  reach ;  "  which  is  just  as  absurd  as 
if  he  had  said  that  the  greatest  names  in  British  science 
are  Merlin,  Michael  Scott,  Dr.  Sydenham,  and  Lord 
Bacon.  Indeed,  the  manner  in  which  Temple  mixes 
the  historical  and  the  fabulous  reminds  us  of  those 
classical  dictionaries,  intended  for  the  use  of  schools,  in 
which  Narcissus  the  lover  of  himself  and  Narcissus  the 
freedman  of  Claudius,  Pollux  the  son  of  Jupiter  and 
Leda  and  Pollux  the  author  of  the  Onomasticon,  are 
ranged  under  the  same  headings,  and  treated  as  per- 
sonages equally  real.  The  effect  of  this  arrangement 
resembles  that  which  would  be  produced  by  a  dictionary 
of  modern  names,  consisting  of  such  articles  as  the 
following:  —  "Jones,  William,  an  eminent  Orientalist, 
and  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Judi- 
cature in  Bengal  —  Davy,  a  fiend,  who  destroys  ships 
—  Tlumas,  a  foundling,  brought  up  by  Mr.  All- 
worthy."  It  is  from  such  sources  as  these  that  Temple 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  107 

seems  to  have  learned  all  that  he  knew  about  the 
ancients.  He  puts  the  story  of  Orpheus  between  the 
Olympic  games  and  the  battle  of  Arbela  ;  as  if  we  had 
exactly  the  same  reasons  for  believing  that  Orpheus  led 
beasts  with  his  lyre,  which  we  have  for  believing  that 
there  were  races  at  Pisa,  or  that  Alexander  conquered 
Darius. 

He  manages  little  better  when  he  comes  to  the 
moderns.  He  gives  us  a  catalogue  of  those  whom  he 
regards  as  the  greatest  writers  of  later  times.  It  is 
sufficient  to  say  that,  in  his  list  of  Italians,  he  has  omit- 
ted Dante,  Petrarch,  Ariosto,  and  Tasso ;  in  his  list  of 
Spaniards,  Lope  and  Calderon ;  in  his  list  of  French, 
Pascal,  Bossuet,  Molie're,  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Boi- 
leau ;  and  in  his  list  of  English,  Chaucer,  Spenser, 
Shakspeare,  and  Milton. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  vast  mass  of  absurdity  one 
paragraph  stands  out  preeminent.  The  doctrine  of 
Temple,  not  a  very  comfortable  doctrine,  is  that  the 
human  race  is  constantly  degenerating,  and  that  the 
oldest  books  in  every  kind  are  the  best.  In  confirma- 
tion of  this  notion,  he  remarks  that  the  Fables  of  JEsop 
are  the  best  Fables,  and  the  letters  of  Phalaris  the  best 
Letters  in  the  world.  On  the  merit  of  the  Letters  of 
Phalaris  he  dwells  with  great  warmth  and  with  extra- 
ordinary felicity  of  language.  Indeed  we  could  hardly 
select  a  more  favourable  specimen  of  the  graceful  and 
easy  majesty  to  which  his  style  sometimes  rises  than 
this  unlucky  passage.  He  knows,  he  says,  that  some 
learned  men,  or  men  who  pass  for  learned,  such  aa 
Politian,  have  doubted  the  genuineness  of  these  letters: 
Dut  of  such  doubts  he  speaks  witji  the  greatest  con- 
tempt. Now  it  is  perfectly  certain,  first,  that  the 
c  are  very  bad;  secondly,  that  they  are  spurious  j 


108  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

and  thirdly,  that,  whether  they  be  bad  or  good,  spu- 
rious or  genuine,  Temple  could  know  nothing  of 
the  matter ;  inasmuch  as  he  was  no  more  able  to 
construe  a  line  of  them  than  to  decipher  an  Egyptian 
obelisk. 

This  Essay,  silly  as  it  is,  was  exceedingly  well  re- 
ceived, both  in  England  and  on  the  Continent.  And 
the  reason  is  evident.  The  classical  scholars  who  saw 
its  absurdity  were  generally  on  the  side  of  the  ancients, 
and  were  inclined  rather  to  veil  than  to  expose  the 
blunders  of  an  ally ;  the  champions  of  the  moderns 
were  generally  as  ignorant  as  Temple  himself;  and  the 
multitude  was  'charmed  by  his  flowing  and  melodious 
diction.  He  was  doomed,  however,  to  smart,  as  he 
well  deserved,  for  his  vanity  and  folly. 

Christchurch  at  Oxford  was  then  widely  and  justly 
celebrated  as  a  place  where  the  lighter  parts  of  classi- 
cal learning  were  cultivated  with  success.  With  the 
deeper  mysteries  o.f  philology  neither  the  instructors 
nor  the  pupils  had  the  smallest  acquaintance.  They 
fancied  themselves  Scaligers,  as  Bentley  scornfully  said, 
if  they  could  write  a  copy  of  Latin  verses  with  only 
two  or  three  small  faults.  From  this  College  pro- 
ceeded a  new  edition  of  the  Letters  of  Phalaris,  which 
were  rare,  and  had  been  in  request  since  the  appear- 
ance of  Temple's  Essay.  The  nominal  editor  was 
Charles  Boyle,  a  young  man  of  noble  family  and  prom- 
ising parts  ;  but  some  older  members  of  the  society  lent 
their  assistance.  While  this  work  was  in  preparation, 
nn  idle  quarrel,  occasioned,  it  should  seem,  by  the  neg- 
ligence and  misrepresentations  of  a  bookseller,  arose 
between  Beyle  and  the  King's  Librarian,  Richard 
Bentley.  Boyle,  in  the  preface  to  his  edition,  inserted 
a  bitter  reflection  on  Bentley.  Bentley  revenged  him 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  109 

self  by  proving  that  the  Epistles  of  Phalaris  were  forg- 
eries, and  in  his  remarks  on  this  subject  treated  Tem- 
ple, not  indecently,  but  with  no  great  reverence. 

Temple,  who  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  any  but  the 
most  respectful  usage,  who,  even  while  engaged  in  poli- 
tics, had  always  shrunk  from  all  rude  collision  and  had 
generally  succeeded  in  avoiding  it,  and  whose  sensitive- 
ness had  been  increased  by  many  years  of  seclusion 
and  flattery,  was  moved  to  most  violent  resentment, 
complained,  very  unjustly,  of  Bentley's  foul-mouthed 
raillery,  and  declared  that  he  had  commenced  an 
answer,  but  had  laid  it  aside,  "  having  no  mind  to  enter 
the  lists  with  such  a  mean,  dull,  unmannerly  pedant." 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  temper  which  Sir 
William  showed  on  this  occasion,  we  cannot  too  highly 
applaud  his  discretion  in  not  finishing  and  publishing 
his  answer,  which  would  certainly  have  been  a  most 
extraordinary  performance. 

He  was  not,  however,  without  defenders.  Like 
Hector,  when  struck  down  prostrate  by  Ajax,  he  was 
in  an  instant  covered  by  a  thick  crowd  of  shields. 

Ofruf  tdvvf/oaTO  noi/ieva  Xauv 
Qvraacu,  ovde  ficikeiv  irpiv  yup  Kepiorjaav  uptarot, 
TE,  nal  Alvsiaf,  Kal  6lof  'Ayf/vup, 
vuiuv,  nal  r?,a{>/cof  uf 


Christchurch  was  up  in  arms  ;  and  though  that 
College  seems  then  to  have  been  almost  destitute  of 
severe  and  accurate  learning,  no  academical  society 
could  show  a  greater  array  of  orators,  wits,  politicians, 
bustling  adventurers  who  unittd  the  superficial  accom- 
plishments of  the  scholar  with  the  manners  and  arts  of 
ihe  man  of  the  world  ;  and  this  formidable  body  re- 
lolved  to  try  how  far  smart  repartees,  well-turned 


110  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

sentences,  confidence,  puffing,  and  intrigue  could,  on 
the  question  whether  a  Greek  book  were  or  were  not 
genuine,  supply  the  place  of  a  little  knowledge  of 
Greek. 

Out  came  the  Reply  to  Bentley,  bearing  the  name.1 
of  Boyle,  but  in  truth  written  by  Atterbury  with  the 
assistance  of  Smalridge  and  others.  A  most  remarka- 
ble book  it  is,  and  often  reminds  us  of  Goldsmith's 
observation,  that  the  French  would  be  the  best  cooks 
in  the  world  if  they  had  any  butcher's  meat ;  for  that 
they  can  make  ten  dishes  out  of  a  nettle-top.  It  really 
deserves  the  praise,  whatever  that  praise  may  be  worth, 
of  being  the  best  book  ever  written  by  any  man  on  the 
wrong  side  of  a  question  of  which  he  was  profoundly 
ignorant.  The  learning  of  the  confederacy  is  that  of 
a  schoolboy,  and  not  of  an  extraordinary  schoolboy  ; 
but  it  is  used  with  the  skill  and  address  of  most  able, 
artful,  and  experienced  men  ;  it  is  beaten  out  to  the 
very  thinnest  leaf,  and  is  disposed  in  such  a  way  as  to 
seem  ten  times  larger  than  it  is.  The  dexterity  with 
which  the  confederates  avoid  grappling  with  those  parts 
of  the  subject  with  which  they  know  themselves  to  be 
incompetent  to  deal  is  quite  wonderful.  Now  and  then, 
indeed,  they  commit  disgraceful  blunders,  for  which  old 
Busby,  under  whom  they  had  studied,  would  have 
whipped  them  all  round.  But  this  circumstance  only 
raises  our  opinion  of  the  talents  which  made  such  a 
fight  with  such  scanty  means.  Let  readers  who  are 
not  acquainted  with  the  controversy  imagine  a  French- 
man, who  has  acquired  just  English  enough  to  read  the 
Spectator  with  a  dictionary,  coming  forward  to  defend 
the  genuineness  of  Ireland's  Vortigern  against  Malorie; 
*nd  they  will  have  some  notion  of  the  feat  which 
Atterbmy  had  the  audacity  to  undertake,  and  wli'ch. 


SIK  WILLIA3I  TEMPLE.  Ill 

for  a  time,  it  was  really  thought  that  he  had  performed. 
The  illusion  was  soon  dispelled.  Bentley's  answer 
for  ever  settled  the  question,  and  established  his  claim 
to  the  first  place  amongst  classical  scholars.  Nor  do 
those  do  him  justice  who  represent  the  controversy  as 
a  battle  between  wit  and  learning.  For  though  there 
is  a  lamentable  deficiency  of  learning  on  the  side  of 
Boyle,  there  is  no  want  of  wit  on  the  side  of  Bentley. 
Other  qualities,  too,  as  valuable  as  either  wit  or  learn- 
ing, appear  conspicuously  in  Bentley's  book,  a  rare" 
sagacity,  an  .unrivalled  power  of  combination,  a  perfect 
mastery  of  all  the  weapons  of  logic.  He  was  greatly 
indebted  to  the  furious  outcry  which  the  misrepresenta- 
tions, sarcasms,  and  intrigues  of  his  opponents  had 
raised  against  him,  an  outcry  in  which  fashionable  and 
political  circles  joined,  and  which  was  echoed  by  thou- 
sands who  did  not  know  whether  Phalaris  ruled  in 
Sicily  or  in  Siam.  His  spirit,  daring  even  to  rashness, 
self-confident  even  to  negligence,  and  proud  even  to 
insolent  ferocity,  was  awed  for  the  first  and  for  the  last 
time,  awed,  not  into  meanness  or  cowardice,  but  into 
wariness  and  sobriety.  For  once  he  ran  no  risks  ;  he 
teft  no  crevice  unguarded  ;  he  wantoned  in  no  para- 
doxes ;  above  all,  he  returned  no  railing  for  the  railing 
of  his  enemies.  In  almost  every  thing  that  he  has 
written  we  can  discover  proofs  of  genius  and  learning. 
But  it  is  only  here  that  his  genius  and  learning  appear 
to  have  been  constantly  under  the  guidance  of  good 
Bense  and  good  temper.  Here,  we  find  none  of  that 
besotted  reliance  on  his  own  powers  and  on  his  own 
luck,  which  he  showed  when  he  undertook  to  edite  Mil- 
ton ;  nono  of  that  perverted  ingenuity  which  deforms 
50  many  of  his  notes  on  Horace  ;  none  of  that  disdain- 
ful carelessness  by  which  he  laid  himself  open  to  the 


112  SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

keen  and  dexterous  tlirust  of  Middleton  ;  none  of  that 
extravagant  vaunting  and  savage  scurrility  by  which  lie 
afterwards  dishonoured  his  studies  and  his  profession, 

A 

and  degraded  himself  almost  to  the  level  of  De  Pauw. 
Temple  did  not  live  to  witness  the  utter  and  irrepa- 
rable defeat  of  his  champions.  He  died,  indeed,  at  a 
fortunate  moment,  just  after  the  appearance  of  Boyle's 
book,  and  while  all  England  was  laughing  at  the  way 
in  which  the  Christchurch  men  had  handled  the  ped- 
ant. In  Boyle's  book,  Temple  was  praised  in  the 
highest  terms,  and  compared  to  Memmius  :  not  a  very 
happy  comparison  ;  for  almost  the  only  particular  in- 
formation which  we  have  about  Memmius  is  that,  in 
agitated  times,  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  attend  exclu- 
sively to  politics,  and  that  his  friends  could  not  venture, 
except  when  the  Republic  was  quiet  and  prosperous,  to 
intrude  on  him  with  their  philosophical  and  poetical 
productions.  It  is  on  this  account  that  Lucretius  puts 
up  the  exquisitely  beautiful  prayer  for  peace  with  wh'ch 
his  poem  opens : 

"  Nam  neque  nos  agero  hoc  patriai  tercpore  iniqno 
Possumus  sequo  animo,  nee  Memmi  clara  propago 
Talibus  in  rebus  communi  deesse  saluti." 

This  description  is  surely  by  no  means  applicable 
to  a  statesman  who  had,  through  the  whole  course  of 
his  life,  carefully  avoided  exposing  himself  in  seasons 
of  trouble  ;  who  had  repeatedly  refused,  in  most  criti- 
cal conjunctures,  to  be  Secretary  of  State  ;  and  who 
now,  in  the  midst  of  revolutions,  plots,  foreign  and 
domestic  wars,  was  quietly  writing  nonsense  about 
the  visits  of  Lycurgus  to  the  Brahmins  and  the  tunes 
which  Arion  played  to  the  Dolphin. 

We  must  not  omit  to  mention  that,  while  the  con- 
troversy about  Phalaris  was  raging,  Swift,  in  order 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  113 

to  show  Ins  zeal  and  attachment,  wrote  the  Battle 
of  the  Books,  the  earliest  piece  in  which  his  peculiar 
talents  are  discernible.  We  may  observe  that  the 
bitter  dislike  of  Bentley,  bequeathed  by  Temple  to 
Swift,  seems  to  have  been  communicated  by  Swift  to 
Pope,  to  Arbuthnot,  and  to  others,  who  continued  to 
tease  the  great  critic,  long  after  he  had  shaken  hands 
very  cordially  both  with  Boyle  and  with  Atterbury. 

Sir  William  Temple  died  at  Moor  Park  in  January, 
1699.  He  appears  to  have  suffered  no  intellectual 
decay.  His  heart  was  buried  under  a  sun-dial  which 
still  stands  in  his  favourite  garden.  His  body  was 
laid  in  Westminster  Abbey  by  the  side  of  his  wife ; 
and  a  place  hard  by  was  set  apart  for  Lady  Giffard, 
who  long  survived  him.  Swift  was  his  literary  ex- 
ecutor, superintended  the  publication  of  Ins  Letters 
and  Memoirs,  and,  in  the  performance  of  this  office, 
had  some  acrimonious  contests  with  the  family. 

Of  Temple's  character  little  more  remains  to  be 
said.  Burnet  accuses  him  of  holding  irreligious  opin- 
ions, and  corrupt'pg  everybody  who  came  near  him. 
But  the  vague  assertion  of  so  rash  and  partial  a  writer 
as  Burnet,  about  a  man  with  whom,  as  far  as  we 
know,  he  never  exchanged  a  word,  is  of  little  weight. 
It  is,  indeed,  by  no  means  improbable  that  Temple 
may  have  been  a  freethinker.  The  Osbornes  thought 
him  so  when  he  \vas  a  very  young  man.  And  it  is 
certain  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  gentlem€;n  of 
rank  and  fashion  who  made  their  entrance  into  society 
while  the  Puritan  party  was  at  the  height  of  power, 
»nd  while  the  memory  of  the  reign  of  that  party  was 
still  recent,  conceived  a  strong  disgust  for  all  religion. 
The  imputation  was  common  between  Temple  and  all 
the  most  distinguished  courtiers  of  the  age.  Rochester 


114  SIR   WILLIAM  TEMPLE. 

and  Buckingham  were  open  scoffers,  and  Mulgrava 
very  little  better.  Shaftesbniy,  though  more  guarded, 
was  supposed  to  agree  with  them  in  opinion.  All  the 
three  noblemen  who  were  Temple's  colleagues  during 
the  short  time  of  his  sitting  in  the  Cabinet  were  of  very 
indifferent  repute  as  to  orthodoxy.  Halifax,  indeed, 
was  generally  considered  as  an  atheist ;  but  he  solemnly 
denied  the  charge  ;  and,  indeed,  the  truth  seems  to  be 
that  he  was  more  religiously  disposed  than  most  of  the 
statesmen  of  that  age,  though  two  impulses  which 
were  unusually  strong  in  him,  a  passion  for  ludicrous 
images,  and  a  passion  for  subtle  speculations,  some- 
times prompted  him  to  talk  on  serious  subjects  in  a 
manner  which  gave  great  and  just  offence.  It  is  not 
unlikely  that  Temple,  who  seldom  went  below  the 
surface  of  any  question,  may  have  been  infected  with 
the  prevailing  scepticism.  All  that  we  ran  soy  on 
the  subject  is,  that  there  is  no  trace  of  impiety  in  his 
works,  and  that  the  ease  with  which  he  earned  his 
election  for  an  university,  where  the  majority  of  the 
voters  were  clergymen,  though  it  proves  nothing  as  to 
his  opinions,  must,  we  think,  be  considered  as  proving 
that  he  was  not,  as  Burnet  seems  to  insinuate,  in  the 
habit  of  talking  atheism  to  all  who  came  near  him. 

Temple,  however,  will  scarcely  carry  with  him  any 
great  accession  of  authority  to  the  side  either  of  religion 
or  of  infidelity.  He  was  no  profound  thinker.  He 
was  merely  a  man  of  lively  parts  and  quick  observa- 
tion, a  man  of  the  world  among  men  of  letters,  a  man 
of  letters  among  men  of  the  world.  Mere  scholars 
were  dazzled  by  the  Ambassador  and  Cabinet  coun- 
sellor j  mere  politicians  by  the  Essayist  and  Historian. 
But  neither  as  a  writer  nor  as  a  statesman  can  we  allot 
to  him  any  very  liigli  place.  As  a  man,  he  seems  to 


SIR  WILLIAM  TEMPLE.  i!5 

us  to  nave  been  excessively  selfish,  but  very  sober, 
vrary,  and  far-sighted  in  his  selfishness  ;  to  have  known 
better  than  most  people  what  he  really  wanted  in  life  ; 
and  to  have  pursued  what  he  wanted  with  much  more 
than  ordinary  steadiness  and  sagacity,  never  suffering 
himself  to  be  drawn  aside  either  by  bad  or  by  good  feel- 
ings. It  was  his  constitution  to  dread  failure  more 
than  he  desired  success,  to  prefer  security,  comfort, 
repose,  leisure,  to  the  turmoil  and  anxiety  which  are 
inseparable  from  greatness ;  and  this  natural  languor  of 
mind,  when  contrasted  with  the  malignant  -energy  of 
the  keen  and  restless  spirits  among  whom  his  lot  was 
cast,  sometimes  appears  to  resemble  the  moderation  of 
virtue.  But  we  must  own  that  he  seems  to  us  to  sink 
into  littleness  and  meanness  when  we  compare  him,  we 
do  not  say  with  any  high  ideal  standard  of  morality, 
but  with  many  of  those  frail  men  who,  aiming  at  noble 
ends,  but  often  drawn  from  the  right  path  by  strong 
passions  and  ^ strong  temptations,  have  left  to  posterity 
a  doubtful  and  checkered  fame. 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

(Edinburgh  Review,  April,  1839.) 

THE  author  of  this  volume  is  a  young  man  of  un- 
blemished character,  and  of  distinguished  parliamentary 
talents,  the  rising  hope  of  those  stern  and  unbending 
Tories  who  follow,  reluctantly  and  mutinously,  a  leader 
whose  experience  and  eloquence  are  indispensable  to 
them,  but  whose  cautious  temper  and  moderate  opin- 
ions they  abhor.  It  would  not  be  at  all  strange  if  Mr. 
Gladstone  were  one  of  the  most  unpopular  men  in 
England.  But  we  believe  that  we  do  him  no  more 
than  justice  when  we  say  that  his  abilities  and  his 
demeanour  have  obtained  for  him  the  respect  and  good 
will  of  all  parties.  His  first  appearance  in  the  charac- 
ter of  an  author  is  therefore  an  interesting  event ;  and 
it  is  natural  that  the  gentle  wishes  of  the  public  should 
go  with  him  to  his  trial. 

We  are  much  pleased,  without  any  reference  to  the 
soundness  or  unsoundness  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  theories, 
to  see  a  grave  and  elaborate  treatise  on  an  important 
part  of  the  Philosophy  of  Government  proceed  from  the 
pen  of  a  young  man  who  is  rising  to  eminence  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  There  is  little  danger  that  people 
engaged  in  the  conflicts  of  active  life  will  be  too  much 

i  The  State  in  its  delations  with  the  Church.  By  W.  E.  GLADSTONE, 
Esq.,  Student  of  Christ  Church,  and  M.  P.  for  Newark.  8vo.  Second 
Eiition.  London  '  1839. 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  117 

addicted  to  general  speculation.  The  opposite  vice 
is  that  which  most  easily  besets  them.  The  times 
and  tides  of  business  and  debate  tarry  for  no  man. 
A  politician  must  often  talk  and  act  before  he  has 
thought  and  read.  He  may  be  very  ill  informed 
respecting  a  question  ;  all  his  notions  about  it  may  be 
vague  and  inaccurate ;  but  speak  he  must ;  and  if  he  is 
a  man  of  ability,  of  tact,  and  of  intrepidity,  he  soon 
finds  that,  even  under  such  circumstances,  it  is  possible 
to  speak  successfully.  He  finds  that  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  the  effect  of  written  words,  which 
are  perused  and  reperused  in  the  stillness  of  the  closet, 
and  the  effect  of  spoken  words  which,  set  off  by  the 
graces  of  utterance  and  gesture,  vibrate  for  a  single  mo- 
ment on  the  ear.  He  finds  that  he  may  blunder  with- 
out much  chance  of  being  detected,  that  he  may  reason 
sophistically,  and  escape  unrefuted.  He  finds  that, 
even  on  knotty  questions  of  trade  and  legislation,  he 
can,  without  reading  ten  pages,  or  thinking  ten  min- 
utes, draw  forth  loud  plaudits,  and  sit  down  with  the 
credit  of  having  made  an  excellent  speech.  Lysias, 
says  Plutarch,  wrote  a  defence  for  a  man  who  was  to  be 
tried  before  one  of  the  Athenian  tribunals.  Long  be- 
fore the  defendant  had  learned  the  speech  by  heart,  he 
became  so  much  dissatisfied  with  it  that  he  went  in 
great  distress  to  the  author.  "  I  was  delighted  with 
your  speech  the  first  time  I  read  it ;  but  I  liked  it  less 
the  second  time,  and  still  less  the  third  time  ;  and  now 
it  seems  to  me  to  be  no  defence  at  all."  "  My  good 
friend,"  said  Lysias,  "  you  quite  forget  that  the  judges 
are  to  hear  it  only  once."  The  case  is  the  same  in  the 
English  parliament.  It  would  be  as  idle  in  an  orator 
to  waste  deep  meditation  and  long  research  on  his 
speeches,  as  it  would  be  in  the  manager  of  a  theatre  to 


118  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

adorn  all  the  crowd  of  courtiers  and  ladies  who  cross 
over  the  stage  in  a  procession  with  real  pearls  "and  dia« 
monds.  It  is  not  by  accuracy  or  profundity  that  men 
become  the  masters  of  great  assemblies.  And  why  be 
at  the  charge  of  providing  logic  of  the  best  qual- 
ity, when  a  very  inferior  article  will  be  equally  accept- 
able ?  Why  go  as  deep  into  a  question  as  Burke,  only 
in  order  to  be,  like  Burke,  coughed  down,  or  left  speak- 
ing to  green  benches  and  red  boxes  ?  This  has  long 
appeared  to  us  to  be  the  most  serious  of  the  evils  which 
are  to  be  set  off  against  the  many  blessings  of  popular 
government.  It  is  a  fine  and  true  saying  of  Bacon, 
that  reading  makes  a  full  man,  talking  a  ready  man, 
and  writing  an  exact  man.  The  tendency  of  institu- 
tions like  those  of  England  is  to  encourage  readiness  in 
public  men,  at  the  expense  both  of  fulness  and  of  exact- 
ness. The  keenest  and  most  vigorous  minds  of  every 
generation,  minds  often  admirably  fitted  for  the  investi- 
gation of  truth,  are  habitually  employed  in  producing 
arguments  such  as  no  man  of  sense  would  ever  put  into 
a  treatise  intended  for  publication,  arguments  which  are 
just  good  enough  to  be  used  once,  when  aided  by  fluent 
delivery  and  pointed  language.  The  habit  of  discuss- 
ing questions  in  this  way  necessarily  reacts  on  the  in- 
tellects of  our  ablest  men,  particularly  of  those  who  arj 
introduced  into  parliament  at  a  very  early  age,  before 
their  minds  have  expanded  to  full  maturity.  The 
talent  for  debate  is  developed  in  such  men  to  a  degree 
which,  to  the  multitude,  seems  as  marvellous  as  the  per- 
formance of  an  Italian  Improvisatore.  But  they  are 
fortunate  indeed  if  they  retain  unimpaired  the  faculties 
which  are  required  for  close  reasoning  or  for  enlarged 
speculation .  Indeed  we  should  sooner  expect  a  great 
original  work  on  political  science,  such  a  work,  for  ex 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  119 

ample,  as  the  Wealth  of  Nations,  from  an  apothecary 
in  a  country  town,  or  from  a  minister  in  the  Hebrides, 
than  from  a  statesman  who,  ever  since  he  was  one-and- 
twenty,  had  been  a  distinguished  debater  in  the  House 
of  Commons. 

We  therefore  hail  with  pleasure,  though  assuredly 
not  with  unmixed  pleasure,  the  appearance  of  this  work. 
That  a  young  politician  should,  in  the  intervals  afforded 
by  his  parliamentary  avocations,  have  constructed  and 
propounded,  with  much  study  and  mental  toil,  an  origi- 
nal theory  on  a  great  problem  in  politics,  is  a  circum- 
stance which,  abstracted  from  all  consideration  of  the 
soundness  or  unsoundness  of  his  opinions,  must  be  con- 
sidered as  highly  creditable  to  him.  We  certainly 
cannot  wish  that  Mr.  Gladstone's  doctrines  may  become 
fashionable  among  public  men.  But  we  heartily  wish 
that  his  laudable  desire  to  penetrate  beneath  the  surface 
of  questions,  and  to  arrive,  by  long  and  intent  medita- 
tion, at  the  knowledge  of  great  general  lawrs,  were 
much  more  fashionable  than  we  at  all  expect  it  to  be- 
come. 

Mr.  Gladstone  seems  to  us  to  be,  in  many  respects, 
exceedingly  well  qualified  for  philosophical  investiga- 
tion. His  mind  is  of  large  grasp  ;  nor  is  he  deficient 
in  dialectical  skill.  But  he  does  not  give  his  intellect 
fair  play.  There  is  no  want  of  light,  but  a  great  want 
of  what  Bacon  would  have  called  dry  light.  Whatever 
Mr.  Gladstone  sees  is  refracted  and  distorted  by  a  false 
medium  of  passions  and  prejudices.  His  style  bears 
a  remarkable  analogy  to  his  mode  of  thinking,  and  in- 
deed exercises  great  influence  on  his  mode  of  thinking. 
His  rhetoric,  though  often  good  of  its  kind,  darkens 
mid  perplexes  the  logic  which  it  should  illustrate. 
Half  his  acuteness  and  diligence,  with  a  barren  im- 


120  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

agination  and  a  scanty  vocabulary,  would  have  saved 
him  from  almost  all  his  mistakes.  He  has  one  gift 

o 

most  dangerous  to  a  speculator,  a  vast  command  of 
a  kind  of  language,  grave  and  majestic,  hut  of  vague 
and  uncertain  import ;  of  a  kind  of  language  which 
affects  us  much  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  lofty 
diction  of  the  Chorus  of  Clouds  affected  the  simple- 
hearted  Athenian. 

u  yfj  TOV  <j>Oey[*aTO£,  u(  ispdv,  KCU  aspibv,  ical  rrparudef. 

When  propositions  have  been  established,  and  noth- 
ing remains  but  to  amplify  and  decorate  them,  this  dim 
magnificence  may  be  in  place.  But  if  it  is  admitted 
into  a  demonstration,  it  is  very  much  v/orse  than  abso- 
lute nonsense  ;  just  as  that  transparent  ha/.e,  through 
which  the  sailor  sees  capes  and  mountains  of  false  sizes 
and  in  false  bearings,  is  more  dangerous  than  utter 
darkness.  Now,  Mr.  Gladstone  is  fond  of  employing 
the  phraseology  of  which  we  speak  in  those  parts  of 
his  works  which  require  the  utmost  perspicuity  and 
precision  of  which  human  language  is  capable ;  and  in 
this  way  he  deludes  first  himself,  and  then  his  readers. 
The  foundations  of  his  theory,  which  ought  to  be  but- 
tresses of  adamant,  are  made  out  of  the  flimsy  materials 
which  are  fit  only  for  perorations.  This  fault  is  one 
which  no  subsequent  care  or  industry  can  correct. 
The  more  strictly  Mr.  Gladstone  reasons  on  his  premi- 
ses, the  more  absurd  are  the  conclusions  which  he 
brings  out ;  and,  when  at  last  his  good  sense  and  good 
nature  recoil  from  the  horrible  practical  inferences  to 
which  his  theory  leads,  he  is  reduced  sometimes  to  take 
refuge  in  arguments  inconsistent  with  his  fundamental 
doctrines,  and  sometimes  to  escape  from  the  legitimate 
consequences  of  his  false  principles,  under  cover  of 
equally  false  history. 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  121 

It  would  be  unjust  not  to  say  that  tliis  book,  though 
Clot  a  good  book,  shows  more  talent  than  many  good 
books.  It  abounds  with  eloquent  and  ingenious  pas- 
sages. It  bears  the  signs  of  much  patient  thought, 
It  is  written  throughout  with  excellent  taste  and  ex- 
cellent temper  ;  nor  does  it,  so  far  as  we  have  obsen  ed, 
contain  one  expression  unworthy  of  a  gentleman,  a 
scholar,  or  a  Christian.  But  the  doctrines  which  are 
put  forth  in  it  appear  to  us,  after  full  and  calm  consid- 
eration, to  be  false,  to  be  in  the  highest  degree  per- 
nicious, and  to  be  such  as,  if  followed  out  in  practice  to 
their  legitimate  consequences,  would  inevitably  pro- 
duce the  dissolution  of  society  ;  and  for  this  opinion  we 
shall  proceed  to  give  our  reasons  with  that  freedom 
which  the  importance  of  the  subject  requires,  and 
which  Mr.  Gladstone,  both  by  precept  and  by  example, 
invites  us  to  use,  but,  we  hope,  without  rudeness,  and, 
we  are  sure,  without  malevolence. 

Before  we  enter  on  an  examination  of  this  theory, 
we  wish  to  guard  ourselves  against  one  misconception. 
It  is  possible  that  some  persons  who  have  read  Mr. 
Gladstone's  book  carelessly,  and  others  who  have 
merely  heard  in  conversation,  or  seen  in  a  newspaper, 
that  the  member  for  Newark  has  written  in  defence  of 
the  Church  o*"  England  against  the  supporters  of  the 
voluntary  system,  may  imagine  that  we  are  writing  in 
defence  of  the  voluntary  system,  and  that  Ave  desire  th.3 
abolition  of  the  Established  Church.  This  is  not  ths 
case.  It  would  be  as  unjust  to  accuse  us  of  attacking 
\he  Church,  because  we  attack  Mr.  Gladstone's  doc- 
trines, as  it  would  be  to  accuse  Locke  of  wishing  for 
anarchy,  because  he  refuted  Filmer's  patriarchal  theory 
of  government,  or  to  accuse  Blackstone  of  recommenci- 
ng the  confiscation  of  ecclesiastical  property,  because 

VOL.  IV  6 


122  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

he  denied  that  the  right  of  the  rector  to  tithe  Was  de- 
rived from  the  Levitical  Jaw.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that 
Mr.  Gladstone  rests  his  case  on  entirely  new  grounds, 
and  does  not  differ  more  widely  from  us  than  from  some 
of  those  who  have  hitherto  been  considered  as  the  most 
illustrious  champions  of  the  Church.  He  is  not  content 
with  the  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  and  rejoices  that  the  lat- 
ter part  of  that  celebrated  work  "does  not  cariy  with 
it  the  weight  of  Hooker's  plenary  authority."  He  is 
not  content  with  Bishop  Warburton's  Alliance  of 
Church  and  State.  "  The  propositions  of  that  work 
generally,"  he  says,  "are  to  be  received  with  qualifica- 
tion ;"  and  he  agrees  with  Bolingbroke  in  thinking  that 
Warburton's  whole  theory  rests  on  a  fiction.  He  is 
still  less  satisfied  with  Paley's  defence  of  the  Church, 
which  he  pronounces  to  be  "  tainted  by  the  original 
vice  of  false  ethical  principles,"  and  "full  of  the  seeds 
of  evil."  He  conceives  that  Dr.  Chalmers  has  taken  a 
partial  view  of  the  subject,  and  "  put  forth  much  ques- 
tionable matter."  In  truth,  on  almost  every  point  on 
which  we  are  opposed  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  we  have  on 
our  side  the  authority  of  some  divine,  eminent  as  a 
defender  of  existing  establishments. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  whole  theory  rests  on  this  great 
fundamental  proposition,  that  the  propagation  of  relig- 
ious truth  is  one  of  the  principal  ends  of  govern- 
ment, as  government.  If  Mr.  Gladstone  has  not 
proved  this  proposition,  his  system  vanishes  at  once. 

Wo  are  desirous,  before  we  enter  on  the  discussion 
cf  this  important  question,  to  point  out  clearly  a  dis 
tinction  which,  though  very  obvious,  seems  to  be  over 
looked  by  many  excellent  people.  In  their  opinion 
to  say  that  the  ends  of  government  are  temporal  and 
not  spiritual  is  tantamount  to  saying  that  the  tempora. 


GLADSTONE    JN  Cli'JRClI  AND  STATE.  123 

welfare  of  man  is  of  more  importance  than  his  sj  iritual 
welfare.  But  tliis  is  an  entire  mistake.  The  question 
is  not  whether  spiritual  interests  be  or  be  not  superior 
in  importance  to  temporal  interests  ;  but  whether  the 
machinery  which  happens  at  any  moment  to  be  em- 
ployed for  the  purpose  of  protecting  certain  temporal 
interests  of  a  society  be  necessarily  such  a  machinery 
as  is  fitted  to  promote  the  spiritual  interests  of  that 
society.  Without  a  division  of  labour  the  world  could 
not  go  on.  It  is  of  very  much  more  importance  that 
men  should  have  food  than  that  they  should  have 
pianofortes.  Yet  it  by  no  means  follows  that  every 
pianoforte-maker  ought  to  add  the  business  of  a  baker 
to  his  own  ;  for,  if  he  did  so,  we  should  have  both  much 
worse  music  and  much  worse  bread.  It  is  of  much 
more  importance  that  the  knowledge  of  religious 
truth  should  be  wisely  diffused  than  that  the  art  of 
sculpture  should  flourish  among  us.  Yet  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  the  Ro^al  Academy  ought  to  unite 
with  its  present  functions  those  of  the  Society  for 
Promoting  Christian  Knowledge,  to  distribute  theolog- 
ical tracts,  to  send  forth  missionaries,  to  turn  out 
Nollekens  for  being  a  Catholic,  Bacon  for  being  a 
methodist,  and  Flaxman  for  being  a  Swedenborgian. 
For  the  effect  of  such  folly  would  be  that  we  should 
have  the  worst  possible  Academy  of  Arts,  and  the 
worst  possible  Society  for  the  Promotion  of  Christian 
Knowledge.  The  community,  it  is  plain,  would  to 
thrown  into  universal  confusion,  if  it  were  supposed 
to  be  the  duty  of  every  association  which  is  formed 
for  one  good  object  to  promote  every  other  good  object. 
As  to  some  of  the  er-ls  of  civil  government,  aL 
people  are  agreed.  That  it  is  designed  to  protect  Oul 
aersons  and  our  property ;  that  it  is  designed  to  corape. 


124  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

as  to  satisfy  our  wants,  not  by  rapine,  but  by  industry 
that  it  is  designed  to  compel  us  to  decide  our  dif- 
ferences, not  by  the  strong  hand,  but  by  arbitration  ; 
that  it  is  designed  to  direct  our  whole  force,  as  that 
of  one  man,  against  any  other  society  which  may  offer 
us  injury ;  these  are  propositions  which  will  hardly  \M 
disputed. 

Now  these  are  matters  in  which  man,  without  any 
reference  to  any  higher  being,  or  to  any  future  state,  is 
very  deeply  interested.  Every  human  being,  be  he 
idolater,  Mahometan,  Jew,  Papist,  Socinian,  Deist,  or 
Atheist,  naturally  loves  life,  shrinks  front;  pain,  desires 
comforts  which  can  be  enjoyed  only  in  communities 
where  property  is  secure.  To  be  murdered,  to  be  tor- 
tured, to  be  robbed,  to  be  sold  into  slavery,  these  are 
evils  from  which  men  of  every  religion,  and  men  of  no 
religion,  wish  to  be  protected  ;  and  therefore  it  will 
hardly  be  disputed  that  men  of  every  religion,  and  of 
no  religion,  have  thus  far  a  common  interest  in  being 
well  governed. 

But  the  hopes  and  fears  of  man  are  not  limited  to 
this  short  life,  and  to  this  visible  world.  He  finds  him- 
self surrounded  by  the  signs  of  a  power  and  wisdom 
higher  than  his  own  ;  and,  in  all  ages  and  nations,  men 
of  all  orders  of  intellect,  from  Bacon  and  Newton  down 
to  the  rudest  tribes  of  cannibals,  have  believed  in  the 
•Existence  of  some  superior  mind.  Thus  far  the  voice 
of  mankind  is  almost  unanimous.  But  whether  there 
be  one  .God  or  many,  what  may  be  God's  natural  and 
what  His  moral  attribites,  in  what  relation  His  crea- 
tures stand  to  Him,  whether  He  have  ever  disclosed 
Himself  to  us  by  any  other  revelation  than  that  which 
is  written  in  all  the  parts  of  the  glorious  and  well-ordered 
world  which  He  lias  made,  whether  His  revelation  be 


GLADSTONE   ON   CHURCH  AND   STATE.  125 

tontained  in  any  permanent  record,  how  that  record 
should  be  interpreted,  and  whether  it  have  pleased  Him 
to  appoint  any  unerring  interpreter  on  earth,  these 
are  questions  respecting  which  there  exists  the  widest 
diversity  of  opinion,  and  respecting  some  of  which  a 
large  part  of  our  race  has,  ever  since  the  dawn  of  reg- 
ular history,  been  deplorably  in  error. 

Now  here  are  two  great  objects :  one  is  the  protec- 
tion of  the  persons  and  estates  of  citizens  from  injury  ; 
the  other  is  the  propagation  of  religious  truth.  No  two 
objects  more  entirely  distinct  can  well  be  imagined. 
The  former  belongs  wholly  to  the  visible  and  tangible 
world  in  which  we  live  :  the  latter  belongs  to  that 
higher  world  which  is  beyond  the  reach  of  our  senses. 
The  former  belongs  to  this  life ;  the  latter  to  that 
which  is  to  come.  Men  who  are  perfectly  agreed  as 
to  the  importance  of  the  former  object,  and  as  to  the 
way  of  obtaining  it,  differ  as  widely  as  possible  respect- 
ing the  latter  object.  We  must,  therefore,  pause  before 
we  admit  that  the  persons,  be  they  who  they  may,  who 
are  intrusted  with  power  for  the  promotion  of  the 
former  object,  ought  always  to  use  that  power  for  the 
promotion  of  the  latter  object. 

Mr.  Gladstone  conceives  that  the  duties  of  govern* 
pients  are  paternal ;  a  doctrine  which  we  shall  not 
believe  till  he  can  show  us  some  government  which 
oves  its  subjects  as  a  father  loves  a  child,  and  which  ia 
as  superior  in  intelligence  to  its  subjects  as  a  father  is 
to  a  child.  He  tells  us  in  lofty,  though  somewhat  indis- 
tinct language,  that  "  Government  occupies  in  moral 
the  place  of  TO  -xav  in  physical  science."  If  govern- 
ment be  indeed  TO  TTO.V  in  moral  science,  we  do  not 
understand  why  rulers  should  not  assume  all  the  f  unc- 
tions which  Plato  assigned  to  them.  Why  should  they 


126  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND   STATE. 

not  take  away  the  cliild  from-  the  mother,  select  the 
muse,  regulate  the  school,  overlook  the  playground,  fix 
the  hours  of  labour  and  of  recreation, .prescribe  AN  hat 
ballads  shall  be  sung,  what  tunes  shall  be  played,  what 
books  shall  be  read,  what  physic  shall  be  swallowed  ? 
Why  should  not  they  choose  our  wivqs,  limit  our  or- 
pcnses,  and  stint  us  to  a  certain  number  of  dishes  of 
meat,  of  glasses  of  wine,  and  of  cups  of  tea  ?  Plato, 
whose  hardihood  in  speculation  was  perhaps  more  won- 
derful than  any  other  peculiarity  of  his  extraordinary 
mind,  and  who  shrank  from  nothing  to  which  his  prin- 
ciples led,  went  this  whole  length.  Mr.  Gladstone  is 
not  so  intrepid.  He  contents  himself  with  laying  down 
this  proposition,  that,  whatever  be  the  body  which  in 
any  community  is  employed  to  protect  the  persons  and 
property  of  men,  that  body  ought  also,  in  its  corporate 
capacity,  to  profess  a  religion,  to  employ  its  power  foi 
the  propagation  of  that  religion,  and  to  require  con- 
formity to  that  religion,  as  an  indrSpcr.sable  qualifica- 
tion for  all  civil  office.  He  distinct!/  declares  that  he 
does  not  in  this  preposition  confine  his  vi-3w  to  ortho- 
dox governments  or  even  to  Christian  governments. 
The  circumstance  that  a  religion  is  false  does  not,  he 
tells  us,  diminish  the  obligation  of  governors,  as  such, 
to  uphold  it.  If  they  neglect  to  do  so,  "  we  cannot," 
he  says,  "  but  regard  the  fact  as  aggravating  the  case 
of  the  holders  of  such  creed."  "  I  do  not  scruple  to 
affirm,"  he  adds,  "  that,  if  o,  Mahometan  conscien- 
tiously believes  his  religion  to  come  from  God,  and  to 
teach  divine  truth,  he  must  believe  that  truth  to  be 
beneficial,  and  beneficial  beyond  all  other  things  to  tho 
soul  of  man  ;  and  he  must  therefore,  and  ought  to 
desire  its  extension,  and  to  use  for  its  -extension  a!l 
proper  and  legitimate  means;  and  that,  if  such  Ma- 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHIWCII  AND  STAIR  127 

hometan  be  a  prince,  lie  ought  to  count  among 
those  means  the  application  of  whatever  influence  or 
funds  he  may  lawfully  have  at  his  disposal  for  such 
p-.irposes. 

Surely  this  is  a  hard  saying.  Before  we  admit  that 
the  Emperor  Julian,  in  employing  the  influence  and 
the  fiuids  at  his  disposal  for  the  extinction  of  Chris- 
tie^it.y,  was  doing  no  more  than  his  duty,  before  we 
admit  that  the  Arian  Theodoric  would  have  committed 
a  crime  if  he  had  suffered  a  single  believer  in  the 

O 

divaiity  of  Christ  to  hold  any  civil  employment  in 
Italy,  before  we  admit  that  the  Dutch  Government  ig 
bound  to  exclude  from  office  all  members  of  the  Church 
of  England,  the  King  of  Bavaria  to  exclude  from  office 
all  Protestants,  the  Great  Turk  to  exclude  from  office 
all  Christians,  the  King  of  Ava  to  exclude  from  office 
{ill  who  hold  the  unity  of  God,  we  think  ourselves  en- 
titled to  demand  very  full  and  accurate  demonstration. 
When  the  consequences  of  a  doctrine  are  so  startling, 
we  may  well  require  that  its  foundations  shall  be  very 
solid. 

The  following  paragraph  is  a  specimen  of  the  argu- 
ments by  which  Mr.  Gladstone  has,  as  he  conceives, 
established  his  great  fundamental  proposition  :  — 

"  We  may  state  the  same  proposition  in  a  more  general  form,  in 
which  it  surely  must  command  universal  assent.  Wherever  there 
is  power  in  the  universe,  that  power  is  the  property  of  God,  tho 
King  of  that  universe  —  his  property  of  right,  however  for  a  time 
withholden  or  abused.  Now  this  property  is,  as  it  Avere,  realised, 
is  used  according  to  the  will  of  the  owner,  when  it  is  used  for  tho 
purposes  he  has  ordained,  and  in  the  temper  of  mercy,  justice, 
truth,  and  faith  which  he  has  taught  us.  But  those  principles 
never  can  be  truly,  never  can  be  permanently,  entertained  in  the 
human  breast,  except  by  a  continual  reference  to  their  source,  and 
the  supply  of  the  Divine  grace.  The  powers,  therefore,  that 
iwell  in  individuals  acting  as  a  government,  as  well  as  those  that 


128  GLADSTONE   ON   CHURCH  AND   STAm 

dwell  in  individuals  acting  for  themselves,  can  only  be  securea 
for  right  uses  by  applying  to  them  a  religion." 

Here  are  propositions  of  vast  and  indefinite  extent, 
conveyed  in  language  which  has  a  certain  obscure 
dignity  and  sanctity,  attractive,  we  doubt  not,  to  muuy 
minds.  But  the  moment  that  we  examine  these  prop- 
ositions closely,  the  moment  that  we  bring  them  to  the 
test  by  running  over  but  a  very  few  of  the  particulars 
which  are  included  in  them,  we  find  them  to  be  false 
and  extravagant.  The  doctrine  which  "  must  surely 
command  universal  assent "  is  this,  that  every  associ- 
ation of  human  beings  which  exercises  any  power 
whatever,  that  is  to  say,  every  association  of  human 
beings,  is  bound,  as  such  association,  to  profess  a  re- 
ligion. Imagine  the  effect  which  would  follow  if  this 
principle  were  really  in  force  during  four-and-twenty 
hours.  Take  one  instance  out  of  a  million.  A  stage- 
coach company  has  power  over  its  horses.  This  power 
is  the  property  of  God.  It  is  used  according  to  the 
will  of  God  when  it  is  used  with  mercy.  But  the 
principle  of  mercy  can  never  be  truly  or  permanently 
entertained  in  the  human  breast  without  continual 
reference  to  God.  The  powers,  therefore,  that  dwell 
in  individuals,  acting  as  a  stage-coach  company,  can 
only  be  secured  for  right  uses  by  applying  to  them  a 
religion.  Every  stage-coach  company  ought,  therefore, 
in  its  collective  capacity,  to  profess  some  one  faith,  to 
have  its  articles,  and  its  public  worship,  and  its  tests. 
That  this  conclusion,  and  an  infinite  number  of  other 
conclusions  equally  strange,  follow  of  necessity  from 
Mr.  Gladstone's  principle,  is  as  certain  as  it  is  that  two 
ftnd  two  make  four.  And,  if  the  legitimate  conclusions 
be  so  absurd,  there  must  be  something  u  nsound  in  the 
principle. 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  129 

We  will  quote  another  passage  of  the  same  sort :  — 

"  Why,  then,  we  now  come  to  ask,  should  the  governing  bod) 
n  a  state  profess  a  religion  ?  First,  because  it  is  composed  of 
individual  men;  and%they,  being  appointed  to  act  in  a  definite 
moral  capacity,  must  sanctify  their  acts  done  in  that  capacity  by 
the  offices  of  religion ;  inasmuch  as  the  acts  cannot  otherwise  be 
acceptable  to  God,  or  any  thing  but  sinful  and  punishable  in 
themselves.  And  whenever  we  turn  our  face  away  from  God  in 

our  conduct,  we  are  living  atheistically In  fulfilment, 

then,  of  his  obligations  as  an  individual,  the  statesman  must  be  a 
worshipping  man.  But  his  acts  are  public  —  the  powers  and 
instruments  with  which  he  works  are  public  —  acting  under  and 
by  the  authority  of  the  law,  he  moves  at  his  word  ten  thousand 
subject  arms ;  and  because  such  energies  are  thus  essentially 
public,  and  wholly  out  of  the  range  of  mere  individual  agency, 
they  must  be  sanctified  not  only  by  the  private  personal  prayers 
and  piety  of  those  who  fill  public  situations,  but  also  by  public 
acts  of  the  men  composing  the  public  body.  They  must  offer 
prayer  and  praise  in  their  public  and  collective  character  —  in 
that  character  wherein  they  constitute  the  organ  of  the  nation, 
and  wield  its  collective  force.  Wherever  there  is  a  reasoning 
agency,  there  is  a  moral  duty  and  responsibility  involved  in  it 
The  governors  are  reasoning  agents  for  the  nation,  in  their  con- 
joint acts  as  such.  And  therefore  there  must  be  attached  to  thia 
agency,  as  that  without  which  none  of  our  responsibilities  can  be 
met,  a  religion.  And  this  religion  must  be  that  of  the  conscience 
of  the  governor,  or  none." 

Here  again  we  find  propositions  of  vast  sweep,  and  of 
sound  so  orthodox  and  solemn  that  many  good  people, 
we  doubt  not,  have  been  greatly  edified  by  it.  But 
let  us  examine  the  words  closely ;  and  it  will  immedi- 
ately become  plain  that,  if  these  principles  be  once 
admitted,  there  is  an  end  of  all  society.  No  combina- 
tion can  be  formed  for  any  purpose  of  mutual  help,  for 
trade,  for  public  works,  for  the  relief  of  the  sick  or  the 
^oor,  for  the  promotion  of  art  or  science,  unless  the 
wembers  of  the  combination  agree  in  their  theologica* 


130  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

opinions.  Take  any  such  combination  at  random,  the 
London  and  Birmingham  Railway  Company  for  exam- 
ple, and  observe  to  what  consequences  Mr.  Gladstone's 
arguments  inevitably  lead.  "  Why  should  the  Direc- 
tors of  the  Railway  Company,  in  their  collective  capac- 
ity, profess  a  religion  ?  First,  because  the  direction  is 
composed  of  individual  men  appointed  to  act  in  a  defi- 
nite moral  capacity,  bound  to  look  carefully  to  the 
property,  the  limbs,  and  the  lives  of  their  fellow-crea- 
tures, bound  to  act  diligently  for  their  constituents, 
bound  to  govern  their  servants  with  humanity  and 
justice,  bound  to  fulfil  with  fidelity  many  important 
contracts.  They  must,  therefore,  sanctify  their  acts  by 
the  offices  of  religion,  or  these  acts  will  be  sinful  and 
punish  able  in  themselves.  In  fulfilment,  then,  of  his 
obligations  as  an  individual,  the  Director  of  the  London 
and  Birmingham  Railway  Company  must  be  a  worship- 
ping man.  But  his  acts  are  public.  He  acts  for  a 
body.  He  moves  at  his  word  ten  thousand  subject 
arms.  And  because  these  energies  are  out  of  the  range 
of  his  mere  individual  agency,  they  must  be  sanctified 
by  public  acts  of  devotion.  The  Railway  Directors 
must  offer  prayer  and  praise  in  their  public  and  collec- 
tive character,  in  that  character  wherewith  they  consti- 
tute the  organ  of  the  Company,  and  \yield  its  collected 
power.  Wherever  there  is  reasoning  agency,  there  is 
moral  responsibility.  The  Directors  are  reasoning 
agents  for  the  Company.  And  therefore  there  must  be 
attached  to  this  agency,  as  that  without  which  none  of 
our  responsibilities  can  be  met,  a  religion.  And  this 
religion  must  be  that  of  the  conscience  of  the  Director 
himself,  or  none.  There  must  be  public  worship  and  a 
test.  No  Jew,  no  Socinian,  no  Presbyterian,  no  Cath- 
olic, no  Quaker,  must  be  permitted  to  be  the  organ  o-f 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  131 

ll/e  Company,  and  to  wield  its  collected  force."  Would 
Mr.  Gladstone  really  defend  this  proposition  ?  We  are 
fiu.t'e  that  lie  would  not :  but  we  are  sure  that  to  this 
proposition,  and  to  innumerable  similar  propositions,  his 
reasoning  inevitably  leads. 
Again,  — 

"  National  will  and  agency  are  indisputably  one,  binding  either 
a  dissentient  minority  or  the  subject  body,  in  a  manner  that  noth- 
ing but  ihc  recognition  of  the  doctrine  of  national  personality  can 
justify.  National  hont>ur  and  good  faith  are  words  in  every  one's 
month.  How  do  they  less  imply  a  personality  in  nations  than  the 
duty  towards  God,  for  which  we  now  contend  ?  They  are  strictly 
and  essentially  distinct  from  the  honour  and  good  faith  of  the  in- 
dividuals composing  the  nation.  France  is  a  person  to  us,  and 
we  to  her.  A  wilful  injury  done  to  her  is  a  moral  act,  and  a 
moral  act  quite  distinct  from  the  acts  of  all  the  individuals  com- 
posing the  nation.  Upon  broad  facts  like  these  we  may  rest, 
without  resorting  to  the  more  technical  proof  which  the  laws  afford 
in  their  manner  of  dealing  with  corporations.  If,  then,  a  nation 
have  unity  of  will,  have  pervading  sympathies,  have  capability  of 
reward  and  suffering  contingent  upon  its  acts,  shall  we  deny  its 
responsibility;  its  need  of  a  religion  to  meet  that  responsibility  ? 
....  A  nation,  then,  having  a  personality,  lies  under  the  obliga- 
tion, like  the  individuals  composing  its  governing  body,  of  sancti- 
fying the  acts  of  that  personality  by  the  offices  of  religion,  an6 
thus  we  have  a  new  and  imperative  ground  for  the  existence  of  a 
Etate  religion." 

A  new  ground  we  have  here,  certainly,  but  whethe: 
veiy  imperative  may  be  doubted.  Is  it  not  perfectly 
clear,  that  this  argument  applies  with  exactly  as  much 
force  to  every  combination  of  human  beings  for  a  com- 
mon purpose,  as  to  governments  ?  Is  there  any  such 
combination  in  the  world,  whether  technically  a  corpo< 
ration  or  not,  which  has  not  this  collective  personality, 
from  which  Mr.  Gladstone  deduces  such  extraordinary 
?,onsequen  jes  ?  Look  at  banks,  insurance  offices,  dock 
companies,  canal  companies,  gas  companies,  hospitals, 


132  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

dispensaries,  associations  for  the  relief  of  the  poor,  asso- 
ciations for  apprehending  malefactors,  associations  of 
medical  pupils  for  procuring  subjects,  associations  of 
country  gentlemen  for  keeping  fox-hounds,  book  socie- 
ties, benefit  societies,  clubs  of  all  ranks,  from  those 
which  have  lined  Pail-Mall  and  St.  James's  Street  with 
their  palaces,  down  to  the  Free-and-easy  which  meets 
in  the  shabby  parlour  of  a  village  inn.  Is  there  a 
single  one  of  these  combinations  to  which  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's argument  will  not  apply  as  well  as  to  the  State  ? 
In  all  these  combinations,  in  the  Bank  of  England,  for 
example,  or  in  the  Athenaeum  club,  the  will  and  agency 
of  the  society  are  one,  and  bind  the  dissentient  minority. 
The  Bank  and  the  Athenaeum  have  a  good  faith  and  a 
justice  different  from  the  good  faith  and  justice  of  the 
individual  members.  The  Bank  is  a  person  to  those 
who  deposit  bullion  with  it.  The  Athenasum  is  a  per- 
son to  the  butcher  and  the  wine-merchant.  If  the 
Athenaeum  keeps  money  at  the  Bank,  the  two  societies 
are  as  much  persons  to  each  other  as  England  and 
France.  Either  society  may  pay  its  debts  honestly ; 
either  may  try  to  defraud  its  creditors  ;  either  may  in- 
crease in  prosperity  ;  either  may  fall  into  difficulties. 
If,  then,  they  have  this  unity  of  will ;  if  they  are  capa- 
ble of  doing  and  suffering  good  and  evil,  can  we,  to  use 
Mr.  Gladstone's  words,  "  deny  their  responsibility,  or 
their  need  of  a  religion  to  meet  that  responsibility  ?  " 
Joint-stock  banks,  therefore,  and  clubs,  "having  a 
personality,  lie  under  the  necessity  of  sanctifying  that 
personality  by  the  offices  of  religion ; "  and  thus  wo 
have  "  a  new  and  imperative  ground  "  for  requiring  all 
the  directors  and  clerks  of  joint-stock  banks,  and  all  the 
members  of  clubs,  to  qualify  by  taking  the  sacrament. 
The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Gladstone  has  fallen  into  an 


GLADSTONE   ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  133 

error  very  common  among  men  of  less  taleiits  than  his 
own.  It  is  not  unusual  for  a  person  who  is  eager  tc 
'prove  a  particular  proposition  to  assume  a  major  of 
huge  extent,  v/hich  includes  that  particular  proposition, 
without  ever  reflecting  that  it  includes  a  great  deal 
more.  The  fatal  facility  with  which  Mr.  Gladstone 
multiplies  expressions  stately  and  sonorous,  but  of 
indeterminate  meaning,  eminently  qualifies  him  to 
practise  this  sleight  on  himself  and  on  his  readers. 
He  lays  down  broad  general  doctrines  about  power, 
when  the  only  power  of  which  he  is  thinking  is  the 
power  of  governments,  and  about  conjoint  action  when 
the  only  conjoint  action  of  which  he  is  thinking  is  the 
conjoint  action  of  citizens  in  a  state.  He  first  resolves 
on  his  conclusion.  He  then  makes  a  major  of  most 
comprehensive  dimensions,  and  having  satisfied  himself 
that  it  contains  his  conclusion,  never  troubles  himself 
about  what  else  it  may  contain  :  and  as  soon  as  we 
examine  it  we  find  that  it  contains  an  infinite  number 
of  conclusions,  every  one  of  which  is  a  monstrous 
absurdity. 

It  is  perfectly  true  that  it  would  be  a  very  good 
thing  if  all  the  members  of  all  the  associations  in  the 
world  were  men  of  sound  religious  views.  We  have 
no  floubt  that  a  good  Christian  will  be  under  the 
guidance  of  Christian  principles,  in  his  conduct  as  di- 
rector of  a  canal  company  or  steward  of  a  charity 
dinner.  If  he  were,  to  recur  to  a  case  which  we  have 
before  put,  a  member  of  a  stage-coach  company,  he 
\vould,  in  that  capacity,  remember  that  "  a  righteous 
nr.an  regardeth  the  life  of  his  beast."  But  it  does  not 
•"bllow  that  every  association  of  men  must,  therefore,  as 
Buch  association,  profess  a  religion.  It  is  evident  that 
'pany  great  and  useful  objects  can  be  attained  in  this 


134  GLADSTONE  OX  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

world  only  by  co-operation.  It  is  equally  evident  that 
there  cannot  be  efficient  co-operation,  if  men  proceed  on 
the  principle  that  they  must  not  co-operate  for  one* 
object  unless  they  agree  about  other  objects.  Nothing 
seems  to  us  more  beautiful  or  admirable  in  our  soda* 
system  than  the  facility  with  which  thousands  of  people, 
who  perhaps  agree  only  on  a  single  point,  can  combine 
their  energies  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  that  single 
point.  We  see  daily  instances  of  this.  Two  men,  one 
of  them  obstinately  prejudiced  against  missions,  the 
other  president  of  a  missionary  society,  sit  together  at 
the  board  of  a  hospital,  and  heartily  concur  in  meas- 
ures,for  the  health  and  comfort  of  the  patients.  Two 
men,  one  of  whom  is  a  zealous  supporter  and  the  other 
a  zealous  opponent  of  the  system  pursued  in  Lan- 
caster's schools,  meet  at  the  Mendicity  Society,  and  act 
together  with  the  utmost  cordiality.  The  general  rule 
we  take  to  be  undoubtedly  this,  that  it  is  lawful  and 
expedient  for  men  to  unite  in  an  association  for  the 
promotion  of  a  good  object,  though  they  may  differ 
with  respect  to  other  objects  of  still  higher  impor- 
tance. 

It  wrill  hardly  be  denied  that  the  security  of  the 
persons  and  property  of  men  is  a  good  object,  and  that 
the  best  way,  indeed  the  onh  way  of  promoting  Yhat 
object,  is  to  combine  men  together  in  certain  great 
corporations  which  are  called  States,  These  corpo- 
rations are  very  variously,  and,  for  the  most  part,  very 
imperfectly  organized.  Many  of  them  abound  with 
frightful  abuses.  But  it  seems  reasonable  to  believe 
that  the  worst  that  ever  existed  was,  on  the  whole, 
preferable  to  complete  anarchy. 

Now,  reasoning  from  analogy,  we  should  say  that 
&ese  great  corporations  would,  like  all  other  asso- 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  135 

ciatioiis,  be  likely  to  attain  their  end  most  perfectly  if 
that  end  were  kept  singly  in  view  ;  and  that  to  refuse 
the  services  of  those  who  are  admirably  qualified  tc 
promote  that  end,  because  they  are  not  also  qualified 
to  promote  some  other  end,  however  excellent,  seems 
at  first  sight  as  unreasonable  as  it  would  be  to  provide 
that  nobody  who  was  not  a  fellow  of  the  Society  of 
Antiquaries  should  be  a  governor  of  the  Eye  Infirm- 
ary ;  or  that  nobody  who  was  not  a  member  of  the 
Society  for  promoting  Christianity  among  the  Jews 
should  be  a  trustee  of  the  Literary  Fund. 

It  is  impossible  to  name  any  collection  of  human 
beings  to  which  Mr.  Gladstone's  reasonings  would 
apply  more  strongly  than  to  an  army  ?  Where  shall 
we  find  more  complete  unity  of  action  than  in  an 
army  ?  Where  else  do  so  many  human  beings  implicitly 
obey  one  ruling  mind  ?  What  other  mass  is  there 
which  moves  so  much  like  one  man  ?  Where  is  such 
tremendous  power  intrusted  to  those  who  command? 
Where  is  so  awful  a  responsibility  laid  upon  them  ?  If 
Mr.  Gladstone  has  made  out,  as  he  conceives,  an  im- 
perative necessity  for  a  State  Religion,  much  more 
has  he  made  it  out  to  be  imperatively  necessary  that 
every  army  should,  in  its  collective  capacity,  pio- 
fess  a  religion.  Is  he  prepared  to  adopt  this  conse- 
quence ? 

On  the  corning  of  the  thirteenth  of  August,  in  the 
year  1704,  two  great  captains,  equal  in  authority,  united 
by  close  private  and  public  ties,  but  of  different  creeds, 
prepared  for  a  battle,  on  the  event  cf  ^rliich  were 
Staked  the  liberties  of  Europe.  Marlborough  had  passed 
a  part  of  the  night  in  prayer,  and  before  daybreak 
received  the  sacrament  according  to  the  rites  of  the 
Church  of  England.  He  then  hastened  to  join  Eu- 


136  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  S 

gene,  who  had  probably  just  confessed  himself  to  a 
Popish  priest.  The  generals  consulted  together,  formed 
their  plan  in  concert,  and  repaired  each  to  his  OAVII  post. 
Maryborough  gave  orders  for  public  prayers.  The 
English  chaplains  read  the  service  at  the  head  of  the 
English  regiments.  The  Calvinistic  chaplains  of  the 
Dutch  army,  with  heads  on  which  hand  of  Bishop  had 
never  been  laid,  poured  forth  their  supplications  in  front 
of  their  countrymen.  In  the  mean  time,  the  Danes 
might  listen  to  their  Lutheran  ministers  ;  and  Capu- 
chins might  encourage  the  Austrian  squadrons,  and 
pray  to  the  Virgin  for  a  blessing  on  the  arms  of  the 
HoJy  Roman  Empire.  The  battle  commences.  These 
men  of  various  religions  all  act  like  members  of  one 

O         , 

body.  The  Catholic  and  the  Protestant  general  exert 
themselves  to  assist  and  to  surpass  each  other.  Before 
sunset  the  Empire  is  saved :  France  has  lost  in  a  day 
the  fruits  of  eighty  years  of  intrigue  and  of  victory; 
and  the  allies,  after  conquering  together,  return  thanks 
to  God  separately,  each  after  his  own  form  of  worship. 
Now  is  this  practical  atheism  ?  Would  any  man  in  his 
senses  say,  that,  because  the  allied  army  had  unity  of 
action  and  a  common  interest,  and  because  a  heavy 
responsibility  lay  on  its  Chiefs,  it  was  therefore  impera- 
tively necessary  that  the  Army  should,  as  an  Army, 
have  one  established  religion,  that  Eugene  should  lie 
deprived  of  his  command  for  being  a  Catholic,  that  all 
the  Dutch  and  Austrian  colonels  should  be  broken  for 
not  subscribing  tho  Thirty-nine  Articles  ?  Certainly 
not.  The  most  ignorant  grenadier  on  the  field  of  bat- 
tle would  have  seen  the  absurdity  of  such  r,  proposition. 
'*"  I  know,"  he  would  have  said,  "  that  the  Prince  of 
Savoy  goes  to  mass,  and  that  our  Corporal  John  can- 
Dot  abide  it ;  but  what  has  the  mass  to  dc  with  the 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  137 

taking  of  the  village  of  Blenheim  ?  The  Prince  wanta 
to  beat  the  French,  and  so  does  Corporal  John.  If  we 
stand  by  each  other  we  shall  most  likely  beat  them.  If 
we  send  all  the  Papists  and  Dutch  away,  Tallard  will 
'mve  every  man  of  us."  Mr.  Gladstone  himself,  we  im- 
R«ine,  would  admit  that  our  honest  grenadier  would  have 

O  '  O 

the  best  of  the  argument ;  and  if  so,  what  follows  ?  Even 
this ;  that  all  Mr.  Gladstone's  general  principles  about 
power,  and  responsibility,  and  personality,  and  conjoint 
action,  must  be  given  up,  and  that,  if  his  theory  is  to 
stand  at  all,  it  must  stand  on  some  other  foundation. 

We  have  now,  we  conceive,  shown  that  it  may  be 
proper  to  form  men  into  combinations  for  important 
purposes,  which  combinations  shall  have  unity  and 
common  interests,  and  shall  be  under  the  direction  of 
rulers  intrusted  with  great  power  and  lying  under 
solemn  responsibility,  and  yet  that  it  may  be  highly 
improper  that  these  combinations  should,  as  such,  pro- 
fess any  one  system  of  religious  belief,  or  perform  any 
joint  act  of  religious  worship.  How,  then,  is  it  proved 
that  this  may  not  be  the  case  with  some  of  those  great 
combinations  which  we  call  States  ?  We  firmly  believe 
that  it  is  the  case  with  some  States.  We  firmly  be- 
lieve that  there  are  communities  in  which  it  would  be 
as  absurd  to  mix  up  theology  with  government,  as  it 
would  have  been  in  the  right  wing  of  the  allied  army 
at  Blenheim  to  commence  a  controversy  with  the  left 
wing,  in  the  middle  of  the  battle,  about  purgatory  and 
the  worship  of  images. 

It  is  the  duty,  Mr.  Gladstone  tells  us,  of  the  persons, 
be  they  who  they  may,  who  hold  supreme  power  in  the 
state,  t )  employ  that  power  in  order  to  promote  what- 
ever they  may  deem  to  be  theological  truth.  Now 
surely,  before  he  can  call  on  us  to  admit  this  proposi- 


138  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

tion,  he  is  bound  to  prove  that  these  persons  are  likely 
to  do  more  good  than  harm  by  so  employing  their 
power.  The  first  question  is,  whether  a  government, 
proposing  to  itself  the  propagation  of  religious  truth  a? 
one  of  its  principal  ends,  is  more  likely  to  lead  the  peo- 
ple right  than  to  lead  them  wrong?  Mr.  Gladstone 
evades  this  question  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  his  wisest 
course  to  do  so. 

"  If,"  says  he,  "  the  government  be  good,  let  it  have  its  natural 
duties  and  powers  at  its  command  ;  but,  if  no£  good,  let  it  be  made 

BO AVe  follow,  therefore,  the  true  course  in  looking  first  for 

the  true  ifea,  or  abstract  conception  of  a  government,  of  course 
with  allowance  for  the  evil  and  frailty  that  are  in  man,  and  then 
in  examining  whether  there  be  comprised  in  that  i<5ea  a  capacity 
and  consequent  duty  on  the  part  of  a  government  to  lay  down 
any  laws,  or  devote  any  means  for  the  purposes  of  religion,  —  in 
short,  to  exercise  a  choice  upon  religion." 

Of  course,  Mr.  Gladstone  has  a  perfect  right  to  ar- 
gue any  abstract  question,  provided  that  he  will  con- 
stantly bear  in  mind  that  it  is  only  an  abstract  question 
that  he  is  arguing.  Whether  a  perfect  government 
would  or  would  not  be  a  good  machinery  for  the  propa- 
gation of  religious  truth  is  certainly  a  harmless,  and 
may,  for  aught  we  know,  be  an  edifying  subject  of 
inquiry.  But  it  is  very  important  that  we  should  re- 
member that  there  is  not,  and  never  has  been,  any  such 
government  in  the  world.  There  is  no  harm  at  all  in 
inquiring  what  course  a  stone  thrown  into  the  air  would 
take,  if  the  law  of  gravitation  did  not  operate.  But 
the  consequences  would  be  unpleasant,  if  the  inquirer, 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  calculation,  were  to  begin 
to  throw  stones  about  in  all  directions,  without  consid- 
ering that  his  conclusion  rests  on  a  false  hypothesis,  and 
that  his  projectiles,  instead  of  flying  away  through  infi- 


GLADSTONE  OX  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  139 

mte  space,  will  speedily  return  in  parabolas,  and  break 
the  windows  and  heads  of  his  neighbours. 

O 

It  is  very  easy  to  say  that  governments  are  good,  01 
if  not  good,  ought  to  be  made  so.  But  what  is  meant 
by  good  government  ?  And  how  are  all  the  bad  gov- 
ernments in  the  world  to  be  made  good  ?  And  of  Avhat 
value  is  a  theory  which  is  true  only  on  a  supposition  in 
the  highest  degree  extravagant? 

We  do  not,  however,  admit  that,  if  a  government 
were,  for  all  its  temporal  ends,  as  perfect  as  human 
frailty  allows,  such  a  government  would,  therefore,  be 
necessarily  qualified  to  propagate  true  religion.  For 
we  see  that  the  fitness  of  governments  to  propagate 
true  religion  is  by  no  means  proportioned  to  their  fit- 
ness for  the  temporal  end  of  their  institution.  Look- 
ing at  individuals,  we  see  that  the  princes  under  whose 
rule  nations  have  been  most  ably  protected  from  for- 
eign and  domestic  disturbance,  and  have  made  the  most 
rapid  advances  in  civilisation,  have  been  by  no  means 
good  teachers  of  divinity.  Take,  for  example,  the  best 
French  sovereign,  Henry  the  Fourth,  a  king  who  re- 
stored order,  terminated  a  terrible  civil  war,  brought 
the  finances  into  an  excellent  condition,  made  his  coun- 
try respected  throughout  Europe,  and  endeared  himself 
to  the  great  body  of  the  people  whom  he  ruled.  Yet 
this  man  was  twice  a  Huguenot,  and  twice  a  Papist. 
He  was,  as  Davila  hints,  strongly  suspected  of  having 
no  religion  at  all  in  theory,  and  was  certainly  not  much 
under  religious  restraints  in  his  practice.  Take  the 
Czar  Peter,  the  Empress  Catharine,  Frederic  the  Great. 
It  will  .surely  not  be  disputed  that  these  sovereigns,  with 
all  their  faults,  were,  if  we  consider  them  with  refer- 
ence merely  to  the  temporal  ends  of  government,  above 
the  average  of  merit.  Considered  as  theological  guides, 


140  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

Mr.  Gladstone  would  probably  put  them  below  the 
most  abject  drivellers  of  the  Spanish  branch  of  the 
house  of  Bourbon.  Again,  when  we  pass  from  inrli 
viduals  to  systems,  we  by  no  means  find  that  the  apti- 
tude of  governments  for  propagating  religious  truth  is 
proportioned  to  their  aptitude  for  secular  functions. 
Without  being  blind  admirers  either  of  the  French  or 

O 

of  the  American  institutions,  we  think  it  clear  that  tie 
persons  and  property  of  citixens  are  better  protected  in 
France  and  in  New  England  than  in  almost  any  society 
that  now  exists,  or  that  has  ever  existed  ;  very  much 
better,  certainly,  than  in  the  Roman  empire  under  the 
orthodox  rule  of  Constantine  and  Theodosius.  But 
neither  the  government  of  France,  nor  that  of  New 
England,  is  so  organized  as  to  be  fit  for  the  propagation 
of  theological  doctrines.  Nor  do  we  think  it  improbable 
that  the  most  serious  religious  errors  might  prevail  in  a 
state  whiqh,  considered  merely  with  reference  to  tempo- 
ral objects,  might  approach  far  nearer  than  any  that  has 
ever  been  known,  to  the  idea  of  what  a  state  should  be. 
But  we  shall  leave  this  abstract  question,  and  loot 
at  the  world  as  we  find  it.  Does,  then,  the  way  in 
which  governments  generally  obtain  their  power  make 
it  at  all  probable  that  they  will  be  more  favourable  to 
orthodoxy  than  to  heterodoxy?  A  nation  of  barbarians 
pours  down  on  a  rich  and  un warlike  empire,  enslaves 
Ike  people,  portions  out  the  land,  and  blends  the  insti- 
tutions which  it  finds  in  the  cities  with  those  which 
it  has  brought  from  the  woods.  A  handful  of  daring 
adventurers  from  a  civilised  nation  wander  to  some 
savage  country,  and  reduce  the  aboriginal  race  to 
bondage.  A  successful  general  turns  his  arms  against 
the  state  which  he  serves.  A  society,  made  brutal  by 
oppression,  rises  madly  on  its  masters,  sweeps  away  aL 


GLADSTONE   ON  CHURCH  AND   STATE.  141 

old  laws  and  usages,  and,  when  its  first  paroxysm  of 
rage  is  over,  sinks  down  passively  under  any  form  of 
polity  which  may  spring  out  of  the  chaos.  A  chief  of 
a  party,  as  at  Florence,  becomes  imperceptibly  a  sov- 
ereign, and  the  founder  of  a  dynasty.  A  captain  of 
mercenaries,  as  at  Milan,  seizes  on  a  city,  and  by  the 
sword  makes  himself  its  ruler.  An  elective  senate,  as 
at  Venice,  usurps  permanent  and  hereditary  power. 
It  is  in  events  such  as  these  that  governments  have 
generally  originated  ;  and  we  can  see  nothing  in  such 
events  to  warrant  us  in  believing  that  the  governments 
thus  called  into  existence  will  be  peculiarly  well  fitted 
to  distinguish  between  religious  truth  and  heresy. 

When,  again,  we  look  at  the  constitutions  of  govern- 
ments which  have  become  settled,  we  find  no  great 
security  for  the  orthodoxy  of  rulers.  One  magistrate 
holds  power  because  his  name  was  drawn  out  of  a 
purse  ;  another,  because  his  father  held  it  before  him. 
There  are  representative  systems  of  all  sorts,  large  con- 
stituent bodies,  small  constituent  bodies,  universal  suf- 
frage, high  pecuniary  qualifications.  We  see  that,  for 
the  temporal  ends  of  government,  some  of  these  consti- 
tutions are  very  skilfully  constructed,  and  that  the  very 
worst  of  them  is  preferable  to  anarchy.  We  see  some 
sort  of  connection  between  the  very  worst  of  them  and 
the  temporal  well-being  of  society.  But  it  passes  our 
understanding  to  comprehend  what  connection  any  one 
of  them  has  with  theological  truth. 

And  how  stands  the  fact  ?  Have  not  almost  all  the 
governments  in  the  world  always  been  in  the  wrong 
on  religious  subjects  ?  Mr.  Gladstone,  we  imagine, 
would  say  that,  except  in  the  time  of  Constantino,  of 
Jovian,  and  of  a  very  few  of  their  successors,  and  occa- 
sionally in  England  since  th"  ^formation,  no  govern- 


142  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

merit  has  ever  been  sincerely  friendly  to  the  pure  and 
apostolical  Church  of  Christ.  If,  therefore,  it  lie  true 
that  eveiy  ruler  is  bound  in  conscience  to  use  his  power 
for  the  propagation  of  his  own  religion,  it  will  follow 
that,  for  one  ruler  who  has  been  bound  in  conscier.ee  to 
use  his  power  for  the  propagation  of  truth,  a  thoi  sand 
have. been  bound  in  conscience  to  use  their  power  for 
the  propagation  of  falsehood.  Surely  this  i3  a.  conclu- 
sion from  which  common  sense  recoils.  Surely,  if  ex- 
perience shows  that  a  certain  machine,  when  used  to 
produce  a  certain  effect,  does  not  produce  that  effect 
once  in  a  thousand  times,  but  produces,  in  the  vast  ma- 
jority of  cases,  an  effect  directly  contrary,  we  cannot  be 
wrong  in  saying  that  it  is  not  a  machine  of  which  the 
principal  end  is  to  be  so  used. 

If,   indeed,   the   magistrate   would    content   himself 

17  O 

with  laying  his  opinions  and  reasons  before  the  peo- 
ple, and  would  leave  the  people,  uncorrupted  by  hope 
or  fear,  to  judge  for  themselves,  we  should  see  little 
reason  to  apprehend  that  his  interference  in  favour  of 
error  would  be  seriously  prejudicial  to  the  interests  of 
truth.  Nor  do  we,  as  will  hereafter  be  seen,  object  to 
his  taking  this  course,  when  it  is  compatible  with  the 
efficient  discharge  of  his  more  especial  duties.  But 
this  will  not  satisfy  Mr.  Gladstone.  He  would  have 
the  magistrate  resort  to  means  which  have  a  great  ten- 
dency to  make  malcontents,  to  make  hypocrites,  to 
§nake  careless  nominal  conformists,  but  no  .tendency 
whatever  to  produce  honest  and  rational  conviction. 
It  seems  to  us  quite  clear  that  an  inqiu'rer  who  has  no 
wish  except  to  know  the  truth  is  more  likely  to  arrive 
at  the  truth  than  an  inquirer  who  knows  that,  if  he 
decides  one  way,  he  shall  be  rewarded,  and  that,  if  he 
decides  the  other  way,  he  shall  be  punished. 


GLADSTONE  CCN    CUURCII  AND  STATE.  144 

Mr.  Gladstone  would  have  governments  propagate  their 
opinions  by  excluding  all  dissenters  from  all  civil  offices. 
That  is  to  say,  he  would  have  governments  propagate 
their  opinions  by  a  process  which  has  no  reference  what- 
ever to  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  those  opinions,  by  ar- 
bitrarily uniting  certain  worldly  advantages  with  one  set 
of  doctrines,  and  certain  worldly  inconveniences  with 
another  set.  It  is  of  the  veiy  nature  of  argument  to 
serve  the  interests  of  truth  ;  but  if  rewards  and  punish- 
ments serve  the  interests  of  truth,  it  is  by  mere  accident. 
It  is  very  much  easier  to  find  arguments  for  the  divine 
authority  of  the  Gospel  than  for  the  divine  authority 
of  the  Koran.  But  it  is  just  as  easy  to  bribe  or  rack 
a  Jew  into  Mahometanism  as  into  Christianity. 

From  racks,  indeed,  and  from  all  penalties  directed 
against  the  persons,  the  property,  and  the  liberty  of 
heretics,  the  humane  spirit  of  Mr.  Gladstone  shrinks 
with  horror.  He  only  maintains  that  conformity  to 
the  religion  of  the  state  ought  to  be  an  indispensable 
qualification  for  office  ;  and  he  would,  unless  we  have 
greatly  misunderstood  him,  think  it  his  duty,  if  he 
had  the  power,  to  revive  the  Test  Act,  to  enforce  it 
rigourously,  and  to  extend  it  to  important  classes  who 
were  formerly  exempt  from  its  operation. 

This  is  indeed  a  legitimate  consequence  of  his  prin- 
ciples. But  why  stop  here  ?  Why  not  roast  dissent- 
ers at  slow  fires  ?  All  the  general  reasonings  on  which 
this  theory  rests  evidently  lead  to  sanguinary  persecu- 
tion. If  the  propagation  of  religious  truth  be  a  prin- 
cipal end  of  government,  as  government ;  if  it  be  the 
duty  of  a  government  to  employ  for  that  end  its  consti- 
tutional power  ;  if  the  constitutional  power  of  govern- 
ments extends,  as  it  most  unquestionably  does,  to  the 
making  of  laws  for  the  burning  of  heretics ;  if  burn 


Ill  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AXD  STATE. 

Ing  be,  as  it  most  assuredly  is,  in  many  cases,  a  most 
effectual  mode  of  suppressing  opinions  ;  why  should  we 
not  burn  ?  If  the  relation  in  which  government  ought 
to  stand  to  the  people  be,  as  Mr.  Gladstone  tells  us, 
a  paternal  relation,  we  are  irresistibly  led  to  the 
conclusion  that  persecution  is  justifiable.  For  the 
right  of  propagating  opinions  by  punishment  is  one 
which  belongs  to  parents  as  clearly  as  the  right  to  give 
instruction.  A  boy  is  compelled  to  attend  family  wor- 
ship :  he  is  forbidden  to  read  irreligious  books :  if  he 
will  not  learn  his  catechism,  he  is  sent  to  bed  without 
his  supper :  if  he  plays  truant  at  church-time  a  task  is 
set  him.  If  he  should  display  the  precocity  of  his  talents 
by  expressing  impious  opinions  before  his  brothers  and 
sisters,  we  should  not  much  blame  his  father  for  cutting 
short  the  controversy  with  a  horse-whip.  All  the  rea- 
sons which  lead  us  to  think  that  parents  are  peculiarly 
fitted  to  conduct  the  education  of  their  children,  and 
that  education  is  a  principal  end  of  the  parental  relation, 
lead  us  also  to  think  that  parents  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
use  punishment,  if  necessary,  for  the  purpose  of  forcing 
children,  who  are  incapable  of  judging  for  themselves, 
to  receive  religious  instruction  and  to  attend  religious 
worship.  Why,  then,  is  this  prerogative  of  punish- 
ment, so  eminently  paternal,  to  be  withheld  from  a 
paternal  government  ?  It  seems  to  us,  also,  to  be  the 
height  of  absurdity  to  employ  civil  disabilities  for  the 
propagation  of  an  opinion,  and  then  to  shrink  from  em- 
ploying other  punishments  for  the  same  purpose.  For 
nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that,  if  you  punish  at  all, 
you  ought  to  punish  enough.  The  pain  caused  by 
punishment  is  pure  unmixed  evil,  and  never  ought  to 
be  inflicted,  except  for  the  sake  of  some  good.  It  is 
mere  foolish  cruelty  to  provide  penalties  which  tormenl 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  145 

-he  criminal  without  preventing  the  crime.  Now  it  is 
possible,  by  sanguinary  persecution  unrelentingly  in- 
flicted, to  suppress  opinions.  In  this  way  the  Albigen- 
Bes  were  put  down.  In  this  way  the  Lollards  were  put 
down.  In  this  way  the  fair  promise  of  the  Reformation 
was  blighted  in  Italy  and  Spain.  But  we  may  safely 
defy  Mr.  Gladstone  to  point  out  a  single  instance  in 
which  the  system  which  he  recommends  has  succeeded. 
And  why  should  he  be  so  tender-hearted  ?  What 
reason  can  he  give  for  hanging  a  murderer,  and  suffer- 
ing  an  heresiarch  to  escape  without  even  a  pecuniary 
mulct  ?  Is  the  heresiarch  a  less  pernicious  member  of 
society  than  the  murderer  ?  Is  not  the  loss  of  one  soul 
a  greater  evil  than  the  extinction  of  many  lives  ?  And 
the  number  of  murders  committed  by  the  most  profli- 
gate bravo  that  ever  let  out  his  poniard  to  hire  in  Italy, 
or  by  the  most  savage  buccaneer  that  ever  prowled  on 
the  Windward  Station,  is  small  indeed,  when  compared 
with  the  number  of  souls  which  have  been  caught  in 
the  snares  of  one  dexterous  heresiarch.  If,  then,  the 
heresiarch  causes  infinitely  greater  evils  than  the  mur- 
derer, why  is  he  not  as  proper  an  object  of  penal  legis- 
lation as  the  murderer?  We  can  give  a  reason,  a 
reason,  short,  simple,  decisive,  and  consistent.  We  do 
not  extenuate  the  evil  which  the  heresiarch  produces  ; 
but  we  say  that  it  is  not  evil  of  that  sort  against  which 
it  is  the  end  of  government  to  guard.  But  how  Mr. 
Gladstone,  who  considers  the  evil  which  the  heresiarch 
produces  as  evil  of  the  sort  against  which  it  is  the  end 
af  government  to  guard,  can  escape  from  the  obvious 
consequence  of  his  doctrine,  we  do  not  understand. 
The  world  is  full  of  parallel  cases.  An  orange-woman 
stops  up  the  pavement  with  her  wheelbarrow ;  and  a 
policeman  takes  her  into  custody.  A  miser  who  lias 
VOL.  IT.  7 


146  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

amassed  a  million  suffers  an  old  friend  and  benefaclor 
to  die  in  a  workhouse,  and  cannot  be  questioned  before 
any  tribunal  for  his  baseness  and  ingratitude.  Is  this 
because  legislators  think  the  orange-woman's  conduct 
worse  than  the  miser's  ?  Not  at  all.  It  is  because  the 
stopping  up  of  the  pathway  is  one  of  the  evils  against 
which  it  is  the  business  of  the  public  authorities  to  pro- 
tt;ct  society,  and  heartlessness  is  not  one  of  those  evils. 
It  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to  say  that  the  miser 
ought,  indeed,  to  be  punished,  but  that  he  ought  to  be 
punished  less  severely  than  the  orange-woman. 

The  heretical  Constantius  persecutes  Athanasius;  and 
why  not  ?  Shall  Caesar  punish  the  robber  who  has 
taken  one  purse,  and  spare  the  wretch  who  has  taught 
millions  to  rob  the  Creator  of  His  honour,  and  to  be- 
stow it  on  the  creature  ?  The  orthodox  Theodosius 
persecutes  the  Arians,  and  with  equal  reason.  Shall  an 
insult  offered  to  the  Csesarean  majesty  be  expiated  by 
death ;  and  shall  there  be  no  penalty  for  him  who  de- 
grades to  the  rank  of  a  creature  the  almighty,  the 
infinite  Creator  ?  We  have  a  short  answer  for  both  : 
"  To  Cassar  the  things  which  are  Cesar's.  Cassar  is 
appointed  for  the  punishment  of  robbers  and  rebels. 
He  is  not  appointed  for  the  purpose  of  either  propa- 
gating or  exterminating  the  doctrine  of  the  consubstan- 
tiality  of  the  Father  and  the  Son."  "  Not  so,"  says 
Mr.  Gladstone.  "  Cffisar  is  bound  in  conscience  to  prop- 
:igate  whatever  he  thinks  to  be  the  truth  as  to  this 
question.  Constantius  is  bound  to  establish  the  Ariar 
worship  throughout  the  empire,  and  to  displace  the 
hravest  captains  of  his  legions,  and  the  ablest  ministers 
of  his  treasury,  if  they  hold  the  Nicene  faith.  Theo- 
dosius is  equally  bound  to  turn  out  every  public  rervant 
whom  his  Arian  predecessors  have  put  in.  But  il 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  147 

Constantius  lays  on  Atlianasius  a  fine  of  a  single 
aureus,  if  Tlieodosius  imprisons  an  Arian  presbyter  for 
a  week,  this  is  most  unjustifiable  oppression."  Our 
readers  wilJ  be  curious  to  know  liow  this  distinction  is 
made  out. 

The  reasons  which  Mr.  Gladstone  gives  against  perse- 
cution affecting  life,  limb,  and  property,  may  be  divided 
into  two  classes  ;  first,  reasons,  which  can  be  called  rea- 
sons only  by  extreme  courtesy,  and  which  nothing  but 
the  most  deplorable  necessity  would  ever  have  induced 
a  man  of  liis  abilities  to  use  ;  and,  secondly,  reasons 
which  are  really  reasons,  and  which  have  so  much  force 
that  they  not  only  completely  prove  his  exception,  but 
completely  upset  his  general  rule.  His  artillery  on  this 
occasion  is  composed  of  two  sorts  of  pieces,  pieces  which 
will  not  go  off  at  all,  and  pieces  which  go  off  with  a 
vengeance,  and  recoil  with  most  crushing  effect  upon 
himself. 

"  We,  as  fallible  creatures,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone,  "  have  no  right, 
from  any  bare  speculations  of  our  own,  to  administer  pains  and 
penalties  to  our  fellow-creatures,  whether  on  social  or  religious 
grounds.  We  have  the  right  to  enforce  the  laws  of  the  land  by 
such  pains  and  penalties,  because  it  is  expressly  given  by  Him  who 
has  declared  that  the  civil  rulers  are  to  bear  the  sword  for  the 
punishment  of  evil-doers,  and  for  the  encouragement  of  them  that 
do  well.  And  so,  in  things  spiritual,  had  it  pleased  God  to  give  to 
the  Church  or  the  State  this  power,  to  be  permanently  exercised 
over  their  members,  or  mankind  at  large,  we  should  have  the  right 
to  use  it ;  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have  been  so  received,  and 
lonsequently,  it  should  not  be  exercised." 

We  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  the  security  of  our 
lives  and  property  from  persecution  rested  on  no  better 
ground  than  this.  Is  not  a  teacher  of  heresy  an  evil- 
doer? Has  not  heresy  been  condemned  in  many  coun- 
tries, and  in  our  own  among  them,  by  the  laws  of  the 


118  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  A3D  STATE. 

land,  which,  as  Mr.  Gladstone  says,  it  is  justifiable  to 
enforce  by  penal  sanctions  ?  If  a  heretic  is  not  specially 
mentioned  in  the  text  to  which  Mr.  Gladstone  refers, 
neither  is  an  assassin,  a  kidnapper,  or  a  highwayman :  and 
if  the  silence  of  the  New  Testament  as  to  all  interfoi- 
enco  of  governments  to  stop  the  progress  of  heresy  be 
a  reason  fo?.  not  fining  or  imprisoning  heretics,  it  is 
surely  just  as  good  a  reason  for  not  excluding  them 
from  office. 

"  God,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone,  "  has  seen  fit  to  authorise  the  em- 
ployment of  force  in  the  one  case  and  not  in  the  other ;  for  it  waa 
with  regard  to  chastisement  inflicted  by  the  sword  for  an  insult  of- 
fered to  himself  that  the  Redeemer  declared  his  kingdom  not  to  be 
of  this  world  ;  —  meaning,  apparently  in  an  especial  manner,  that 
it  should  be  otherwise  than  after  this  world's  fashion,  in  respect  to 
the  sanctions  by  which  its  laws  should  be  maintained." 

Now  here  Mr.  Gladstone,  quoting  from  memory,  has 
fallen  into  an  error.  The  very  remarkable  words 
which  he  cites  do  not  appear  to  have  had  any  reference 
to  the  wound  inflicted  by  Peter  on  Malchus.  They 
were  addressed  to  Pilate,  in  answer  to  the  question, 
"  Art  thou  the  King  of  the  Jews  ?  "  We  cannot  help 
saying  that  we  are  surprised  that  Mr.  Gladstone  should 
not  have  more  accurately  verified  a  quotation  on  which, 
according  to  him,  principally  depends  the  right  of  a 
hundred  millions  of  his  fellow-subjects,  idolaters,  Mus- 
bulmans,  Catholics,  and  dissenters,  to  their  property, 
their  liberty,  and  their  lives. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  humane  interpretations  of  Scripture 
are  lamentably  destitute  of  one  recommendation,  which 
he  considers  as  of  the  highest  value :  they  are  by  no 
itieans  in  accordance  with  the  general  precepts  or  prac- 
tice of  th  3  Church,  from  the  time  when  the  Christians 
became  strong  enough  to  persecute  down  to  a  very 
recent  period.  A  dogma  favourable  to  toleration  ia 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  149 

rertainly  not  a  dogma  quod  semper,  quod  ubique,  quod 
omnibus.  Bossuet  was  able  to  say,  we  fear  with  too 
much  truth,  that  on  one  point  all  Christians  had  long 
been  unanimous,  the  right  of  the  civil  magistrate  to 
propagate  truth  by  the  sword  ;  that  even  heretics  had 
been  orthodox  as  to  this  right,  and  that  the  Anabaptists 
and  Socinians  were  the  first  who  called  it  in  question. 
We  will  not  pretend  to  say  what  is  the  best  explana- 
tion of  the  text  under  consideration  ;  but  we  are  sure 
that  Mr.  Gladstone's  is  the  worst.  According  to  him, 
government  ought  to  exclude  dissenters  from  office,  but 
not  to  fine  them,  because  Christ's  kingdom  is  not  of 
this  world.  We  do  not  see  why  the  line  may  not  be 
drawn  at  a  hundred  other  places  as  well  as  that  which 
he  has  chosen.  We  do  not  see  why  Lord  Clarendon, 
in  recommending  the  act  of  1664  against  conventicles, 
might  not  have  said,  "  It  hath  been  thought  by  some 
that  this  dassis  of  men  might  with  advantage  be  not 
only  imprisoned  but  pilloried.  But  methinks,  my 
Lords,  we  are  inhibited  from  the  punishment  of  the 
pillory  by  that  Scripture,  '  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this 
world.' '  Archbishop  Laud,  when  he  sate  on  Burton 
in  the  Star-Chamber,  might  have  said,  "  I  pronounce 
for  the  pillory  ;  and,  indeed,  I  could  wish  that  all  such 
wretches  were  delivered  to  the  fire,  but  that  our  Lord 
lialh  said  that  his  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world."  And 
Gardiner  might  have  written  to  the  'Sheriff  of  Oxford- 
shire ;  "  See  that  execution  be  done  without  fail  en 
Master  Ridley  and  Master  Latimer,  as  you  will  answer 
the  same  to  the  Queen's  grace  at  your  peril.  But  if 
they  shall  desire  to  have  some  gunpowder  for  the  short- 
ening of  their  torment,  I  see  not  but  you  may  grant  it 
is  it  is  written,  Regnum  meum  non  est  de  hoc  mundo 
rbat  is  to  say,  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world  " 


150  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

But  Mr.  Gladstone  has  other  arguments  against  per-r 
secution,  arguments  which  are  of  so  much  weight,  that 
they  are  decisive  not  only  against  persecution  but 
against  his  whole  theory.  "  The  government,"  he 
says,  "  is  incompetent  to  exercise  minute  and  constant 
supervision  over  religious  opinion."  And  hence  he 
infers,  that  "  a  government  exceeds  its  province  when 
it  comes  to  adapt  a  scale  of  punishments  to  variations 
in  religious  opinion,  according  to  their  respective  de- 
grees of  variation  from  the  established  creed.  To  de- 
cline affording  countenance  to  sects  is  a  single  and 
simple  rule.  To  punish  their  professors,  according  to 
their  several  errors,  even  were  there  no  other  objec- 
tion is  one  for  which  the  state  must  assume  functions 
wholly  ecclesiastical,  and  for  which  it  is  not  intrinsically 
fitted." 

This  is,  in  our  opinion,  quite  true.  But  how  does 
it  agree  with  Mr.  Gladstone's  theory  ?  What  !  the 
goVernment  incompetent  to  exercise  even  such  a  de- 
gree of  supervision  over  religious  opinion  as  is  implied 
by  the  punishment  of  the  most  deadly  heresy  !  The 
government  incompetent  to  measure  even  the  grossest 
deviations  from  the  standard  of  truth !  The  govern- 
ment not  intrinsically  qualified  to  judge  of  the  com- 
parative enormity  of  any  theological  errors !  The 
government  so  ignorant  on  these  subjects,  that  it  is 
compelled  to  leave,  not  merely  subtle  heresies,  dis- 
cernible only  by  the  eye  of  a  Cyril  or  a  Bucer,  but 
Socinianism,  Deism,  Mahomctanism,  Idolatry,  Atheism, 
unpunished  !  To  whom  does  Mr.  Gladstone  assign  the 
office  of  selecting  a  religion  for  the  state,  from  among 
hundreds  of  religions,  every  one  of  which  lays  claim 
to  truth  ?  Even  to  this  same  government,  which  is 
uow  pronounced  to  be  so  unfit  for  theological  inves- 


GLADSTONE  ON  C1IURCU  AND  STATE.  151 

tigations  that  it  cannot  venture  to  punish  a  man  for 
worshipping  a  lump  of  stone  with  a  score  of  heads 
and  hands.  We  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  fallen 
in  with  a  more  extraordinary  instance  of  inconsistency. 
When  Mr.  Gladstone  Avishes  to  prove  that  the  govern- 
ment ought  to  establish  and  endow  a  religion,  and  to 
fence  it  with  a  Test  Act,  government  is  ib  niiv  in  the 
moral  world.  Those  who  would  confine  it  to  secular 
ends  take  a  low  view  of  its  nature.  A  religion  must 
be  attached  to  its  agency ;  and  this  religion  must 
be  that  of  the  conscience  of  the  governor,  or  none.  It 
is  for  the 'Governor  to  decide  between  Papists  and  Pro- 
testants, Jansenists  and  Molinists,  Arminians  and  Cal- 
vinists,  Episcopalians  and  Presbyterians,  Sabellians 
and  Tritheists,  Homoousians  and  Homoiousians,  Nesto- 
rians  and  Eutychians,  Monothelites  and  Monophysites, 
Paedobaptists  and  Anabaptists.  It  is  for  him  to  re- 
judge  the  Acts  of  Nice  and  Rimini,  of  Ephesus  and 
Chalcedon,  of  Constantinople  and  St.  John  Lateran, 
of  Trent  and  Dort.  It  is  for  him  to  arbitrate  between 
the  Greek  and  the  Latin  procession,  and  to  determine 
whether  that  mysterious  filioque  shall  or  shall  not 
have  a  place  in  the  national  creed.  When  he  has 
made  up  his  mind,  he  is  to  tax  the  whole  community 
in  order  to  pay  people  to  teach  his  opinion,  whatevei 
*t  may  be.  He  is  to  rely  on  his  own  judgment, 
though  it  may  be  opposed  to  that  of  nine-tenths 
of  the  society.  He  is  to  act  on  his  own  judgment, 
Ht  the  risk  of  exciting  the  most  formidable  discon- 
tents. He  is  to  inflict,  perhaps  on  a  great  majority  of 
the  population,  what,  whether  we  choose  to  call  it 
persecution  or  not,  will  always  be  felt  as  persecution 
by  those  who  suffer  it.  He  is,  on  account  of  dif- 
ferences often  too  slight  for  vulgar  comprehension,  tc 


152  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

depri  ve  the  state  of  the  services  of  the  ablest  men.  He 
is  to  debase  and  enfeeble  the  community  which  he 
governs,  from  a  nation  into  a  sect.  In  our  own  coun- 
try, for  example,  millions  of  Catholics,  millions  of 
Protestant  Dissenters,  are  to  be  excluded  from  all 
power  and  honours.  A  great  hostile  fleet  is  on  the 
sea ;  but  Nelson  is  not  to  command  in  the  Channel  if 
in  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity  he  confounds  the  per- 
sons. An  invading  army  has  landed  in  Kent ;  but 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  is  not  to  be  at  the  head  of 
our  forces  if  he  divides  the  substance.  And  after  all 
this,  Mr.  Gladstone  tells  us,  that  it  would  be  wrong 
to  imprison  a  Jew,  a  Mussulman,  or  a  Budhist,  for  a 
day ;  because  really  a  government  cannot  understand 
these  matters,  and  ought  not  to  meddle  with  questions 
which  belong  to  the  Church.  A  singular  theologian, 
indeed,  this  government !  So  learned  that  it  is  com- 
petent to  exclude  Grotius  from  office  for  being  a 
Semi-Pelagian,  so  unlearned  that  it  is  incompetent  to 
fine  a  Hindoo  peasant  a  rupee  for  going  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Juggernaut. 

"  To  solicit  and  persuade  one  another,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone, 
H  are  privileges  which  belong  to  us  all ;  and  the  wiser  and  better 
.can  is  bound  to  advise  the  less  wise  and  good :  but  he  is  not 
only  not  bound,  he  is  not  allowed,  speaking  generally,  to  coerce 
him.  It  is  untrue,  then,  that  the  same  considerations  which  bind 
a  government  to  submit  a  religion  to  the  free  choice  of  the  people 
would  therefore  justify  their  enforcing  its  adoption." 

Granted.  But  it  is  true  that  all  the  same  consider- 
ations which  would  justify  a  government  in  propa- 
gating a  religion  by  means  of  civil  disabilities  would 
justify  the  propagating  of  that  religion  by  penal  laws. 
To  solicit !  Is  it  solicitation  to  tell  a  Catholic  Duke, 
*bat  he  must  abjure  his  religion  or  walk  out  of  the 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  153 

House  of  Lords  ?  To  persuade  !  Is  it  persuasion  to 
tell  a  barrister  of  distinguished  eloquence  and  learning 
that  lie  shall  grow  old  in  the  stuff  gown,  while  his 
pupils  are  seated  above  him  in  ermine,  because  he 
cannot  digest  the  damnatory  clauses  of  the  Athanasian 
creed  ?  Would  Mr.  Gladstone  think  that  a  religious 
system  which  he  considers  as  false,  Socinian  for  exam- 
ple, was  submitted  to  his  free  choice,  if  it  were  submit- 
ted in  these  terms?  —  "If  you  obstinately  adhere  to 
the  faith  of  the  Nicene  fathers,  you  shall  not  be  burned 
in  Smithfield;  you  shall  not  be  sent  to  Dorchester  gaol ; 
you  shall  not  even  pay  double  land-tax.  But  you  shall 
be  shut  out  from  all  situations  in  which  you  might  exer- 
cise your  talents  with  honour  to  yourself  and  advantage 
to  the  country.  The  House  of  Commons,  the  bench 
of  magistracy,  are  not  for  such  as  you.  You  shall  see 
younger  men,  your  inferiors  in  station  and  talents,  rise 
to  the  highest  dignities  and  attract  the  gaze  of  nations, 
while  you  are  doomed  to  neglect  and  obscurity.  If  you 
have  a  son  of  the  highest  promise,  a  son  such  as  other 
fathers  would  contemplate  with  delight,  the  develop- 
ment of  his  fine  talents  and  of  his  generous  ambition 
shall  be  a  torture  to  you.  You  shall  look  on  him  as  a 
being  doomed  to  lead,  as  you  have  led,  the  abject  life 
of  a  Roman  or  a  Neapolitan  in  the  midst  of  the  great 
English  people.  All  those  high  honours,  so  much  more 
precious  than  the  most  costly  gifts  of  despots,  with 
which  a  free  country  decorates  its  illustrious  citizens, 
shall  be  to  him,  as  they  have  been  to  you,  objects  not 
of  hope  and  virtuous  emulation,  but  of  hopeless,  envious 
pining.  Educate  him,  if  you  wish  him  to  feel  his  deg- 
radation. Educate  him,  if  you  wish  to  stimulate  his 
traving  for  what  he  never  must  enjoy.  Educate  him, 
^you  would  imitate  the  barbarity  of  that  Celtic  tyrant, 


154  GLADSTONE  ON  CliURCH  AND  STATE. 

who  fed  liis  prisoners  on  salted  food  till  they  callel 
eagerly  for  drink,  and  then  let  down  an  empty  cup  into 
the  dungeon,  and  left  them  to  die  of  thirst."  Is  this  to 
solicit,  to  persuade,  to  submit  religion  to  the  free  choice 
of  man  ?  Would  a  fine  of  a  thousand  pounds,  would 
imprisonment  in  Newgate  for  six  months,  under  circum- 
stances not  disgraceful,  give  Mr.  Gladstone  the  pain 
which  he  would  feel,  if  he  were  to  be  told  that  he  was 
to  be  dealt  with  in  the  way  in  which  he  would  liimself 
deal  with  more  than  one  half  of  his  countrymen  ? 

We  are  not  at  all  surprised  to  find  such  inconsis- 
tency even  in  a  man  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  talents.  The 
truth  is,  that  every  man  is,  to  a  great  extent,  the  crea- 
ture of  the  age.  It  is  to  no  purpose  that  he  resists  the 
influence  which  the  vast  mass,  in  which  he  is  but  an 
atom,  must  exercise  on  him.  He  may  try  to  be  a  man 
of  the  tenth  century :  -but  he  cannot.  Whether  he 
will  or  not,  he  must  be  a  man  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
He  shares  in  the  motion  of  the  moral  as  well  as  in  that 
of  the  physical  world.  He  can  no  more  be  as  intol- 
erant as  he  would  have  been  in  the  days  of  the  Tudors 
than  he  can  stand  in  the  evening  exactly  where  he 
stood  in  the  morning.  The  globe  goes  round  from 
west  to  east ;  and  he  must  go  round  with  it.  When 
he  says  that  he  is  where  he  was,  he  means  only  that 
\ie  has  moved  at  the  same  rate  with  all  around  him. 
When  he  says  that  he  has  gone  a  good  way  to  the 
westward,  he  means  only  that  he  has  not  gone  to  the 
eastward  quite  as  rapidly  as  his  neighbors.  Mr.  Glad- 
Btone's  book  is,  in  this  respect,  a  very  gratifying  per- 
formance. It  is  the  measure  of  what  a  man  can  do  t( 
be  left  behind  by  the  world.  It  is  the  strenuous  effort 
of  a  very  vigorous  mind  to  keep  as  far  in  the  ret  r  of 
tfie  general  progress  as  possible.  And  yet,  with  the 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND  STATE.  155 

most  intense  exertion,  Mr.  Gladstone  cannot  help  be- 
ing, en  some  important  points,  greatly  in  advance  of 
Locke  himself;  and  with  whatever  admiration  he  may 
regard  Laud,  it  is  well  for  him,  we  can  tell  him,  that 
he  did  not  write  in  the  days  of  that  zealous  primate, 
who  would  certainly  have  refuted  the  expositions  of 
Scripture  which  we  have  quoted,  by  one  of  the  keenest 
arguments  that  can  be  addressed  to  human  ears. 

This  is  not  the  only  instance  in  which  Mr.  Glad- 
stone has  shrunk  in  a  very  remarkable  manner  from 
the  consequences  of  his  own  theory.  If  there  be  in  the 
whole  world  a  state  to  which  this  theory  is  applicable, 
that  state  is  the  British  Empire  in  India.  Even  we, 
who  detest  paternal  governments  in  general,  shall  ad- 
mit that  the  duties  of  the  government  of  India,  are,  to 
a  considerable  extent,  paternal.  There,  the  superiority 
of  the  governors  to  the  governed  in  moral  science  is  un- 
questionable. The  conversion  of  the  whole  people  to 
the  worst  form  that  Christianity  ever  wore  in  the  dark- 
est ages  would  be  a  most  happy  event.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary that  a  man  should  be  a  Christian  to  wish  for  the 
propagation  of  Christianity  in  India.  It  is  sufficient 
that  he  should  be  an  European  not  much  below  the  or- 
dinary European  level  of  good  sense  and  humanity. 
Compared  with  the  importance  of  the  interests  at  stake, 
all  those  Scotch  and  Irish  questions  which  occupy  so 
large  a  portion  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  book,  sink  in  to  insig- 
nificance. In  no  part  of  the  world  since  the  days  of 
Theodosius  has  so  large  a  heathen  population  been  sub- 
ject to  a  Christian  government.  In  no  part  of  the 
world  is  heathenism  more  cruel,  more  licentious,  more 
fruitful  of  absurd  rites  and  pernicious  laws.  Surely,  if 
it  be  the  duty  of  government  to  use  its  power  and  its 
revenue  in  order  to  bring  seven  millions  of  Irish  Cath- 


156  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

olics  over  to  the  Protestant  Church,  it  is  a  fortiori  the 
duty  of  the  government  to  use  its  power  and  its  revenue 
in  order  to  make  seventy  millions  of  idolaters  Christians. 
If  it  be  a  sin  to  suffer  John  Howard  or  William  Ponn 
to  hold  any  office  in  England  because  they  are  not  in 
communion  with  the  Established  Church,  it  must  be  a 
crying  sin  indeed  to  admit  to  high  situations  men  who 
bow  down,  in  temples  covered  with  emblems  of  vice,  to 
the  hideous  images  of  sensual  or  malevolent  gods. 

But  no.  Orthodoxy,  it  seems,  is  more  shocked  by  the 
priests  of  Rome  than  by  the  priests  of  Kalee.  The  plain 
red  brick  building,  the  Cave  of  Adullam,  or  Ebene- 
zer  Chapel,  where  uneducated  men  hear  a  half-educated 
man  talk  of  the  Christian  law  of  love  and  the  Christian 
hope  of  glory,  is  unworthy  of  the  indulgence  which  is 
reserved  for  the  shrine  where  the  Thug  suspends  a  por- 
tion of  the  spoils  of  murdered  travellers,  and  for  the  car 
which  grinds  its  way  through  the  bones  of  self-immo- 
lated pilgrims.  "  It  would  be,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone, 
"  an  absurd  exaggeration  to  maintain  it  as  the  part  of 
such  a  government  as  that  of  the  British  in  India  to 
bring  home  to  the  door  of  eveiy  subject  at  once  the 
ministrations  of  a  new  and  totally  unknown  religion." 
The  government  ought  indeed  to  desire  to  propagate 
Christianity.  But  the  extent  to  which  they  must  do  so 
must  be  "  limited  by  the  degree  in  which  the  people 
are  found  willing  to  receive  it."  He  proposes  no  such 
Vinitation  in  the  case  of  Ireland.  He  would  give  the 
Irish  a  Protestant  Church  whether  they  like  it  or  not. 
"  We  believe,"  says  he,  "  that  that  which  we  place 
before  them  is,  whether  they  know  it  or  not,  calculated 
to  be  beneficial  to  them  ;  and  that,  if  they  know  it  not 
liow,  they  will  know  it  when  it  is  presented  to  them 
fairly.  Shall  we,  then,  purchase  their  applause  at  the 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND   STATE.  157 

expense   of  their   substantial,  nay,  tlieir   spiritual  in- 
terests ?  " 

And  why  does  Mr.  Gladstone  allow  to  the  Hindoo  a 
privilege  which  he  denies  to  the  Irishman  ?  Why 
does  he  reserve  his  greatest  liberality  for  the  most 
monstrous  errors  ?  Why  does  he  pay  most  respect  to 
the  opinion  of  the  least  enlightened  people?  Why 
does  he  withhold  the  riglit  to  exercise  paternal  author- 
ity from  that  one  government  which  is  fitter  to  exer- 
cise paternal  authority  than  any  government  that  ever 
existed  in  the  world  ?  We  will  give  the  reason  in  his 
own  words. 

"In  British  India,"  be  says,  "a  small  number  of  persons  ad- 
vanced to  a  higher  grade  of  civilization,  exercise  the  powers  of 
government  over  an  immensely  greater  number  of  less  cultivated 
persons,  not  by  coercion,  but  under  free  stipulation  with  the  gov- 
erned. Now,  the  rights  of  a  government,  in  circumstances  thus 
peculiar,  obviously  depend  neither  upon  the  unrestricted  theory 
of  paternal  principles,  nor  upon  any  primordial  or  fictitious  con- 
tract of  indefinite  powers,  but  upon  an  express  and  known  treaty, 
matter  of  positive  agreement,  not  of  natural  ordinance." 

Where  Mr.  Gladstone  has  seen  this  treaty  we  cannot 
guess ;  for,  though  he  calls  it  a  "  known  treaty,"  we 
will  stake  our  credit  that  it  is  quite  unknown  both  at 
Calcutta  and  Madras,  both  in  Leadenhall  Street  and 
Cannon  Row,  that  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the 
enormous  folios  of  papers  relating  to  India  which  fill 
the  book-cases  of  members  of  Parliament,  that  it  has 
jtterly  escaped  the  researches  of  all  the  historians  of 
our  Eastern  empire,  that,  in  the  long  and  interesting 
debates  of  1813  on  the  admission  of  missionaries  to 
India,  debates  of  which  the  most  valuable  part  has 
been  excellently  preserved  by  the  care  of  the  speakers, 
no  allusion  to  this  important  instrument  is  to  be  found. 


lt>8  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

The  truth  is  that  this  treaty  is  a  nonentity.  It  is  bj 
coercion,  it  is  by  the  sword,  and  not  by  free  stipulation 
with  the  governed,  that  England  rules  India  ;  nor  is 
England  bound  by  any  contract  whatever  not  to  deal 
with  Bengal  as  she  deals  with  Ireland.  She  may  set 
up  a  Bishop  of  Patna,  and  a  Dean  of  Hoogley;  she 
may  grant  away  the  public  revenue  for  the  maintenance 
of  prebendaries  of  Benares  ancl  canons  of  Moorsheda- 
bad;  she  may  divide  the  country  into  parishes,  ami 
place  a  rector  with  a  stipend  in  every  one  of  them ; 
and  all  this  without  infringing  any  positive  agreement. 
If  there  be  such  a  treaty,  Mr.  Gladstone  can  have  no 
difficulty  in  making  known  its  date,  its  terms,  and, 
above  all,  the  precise  extent  of  the  territory  within 
which  we  have  sinfully  bound  ourselves  to  be  guilty  of 
practical  atheism.  The  last  point  is  of  great  impor- 
tance. For,  as  the  provinces  of  our  Indian  empire 
were  acquired  at  different  times,  and  in  very  different 
ways,  no  single  treaty,  indeed  no  ten  treaties,  will 
justify  the  system  pursued  by  our  government  there. 

The  plain  state  of  the  case  is  this.  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  dream  of  applying  Mr.  Gladstone's  theory 
to  India ;  because,  if  so  applied,  it  would  inevitably 
destroy  our  empire ;  and,  with  our  empire,  the  best 
chance  of  spreading  Christianity  among  the  natives. 
This  Mr.  Gladstone  felt.  In  some  way  or  other  his 
theory  was  to  be  saved,  and  the  monstrous  consequences 
avoided.  Of  intentional  misrepresentation  we  are  quite 
sure  that  he  is  incapable.  But  we  cannot  acquit  him 
of  that  unconscious  disingenuousness  from  which  the 
most  upright  man,  when  strongly  attached  to  an  opinion, 
B  seldom  wholly  free.  We  believe  that  he  recoiled 
from  the  ruinous  consequences  which  his  system  would 
produce,  if  tried  in  India :  but  that  he  did  not  like  tc 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  159 

say  so,  lest  he  should  lay  himself  open  to  the  charge  of 
sacrificing  principle  to  expediency,  a  word  which  is 
held  in  the  utmost  abhorrence  by  all  his  school.  Ac 
crrdingly,  he  caught  at  the  notion  of  a  treaty,  a  notion 
which  must,  we  think,  have  originated  in  some  rhe- 
*orical  expression  which  he  has  imperfectly  understood. 
There  is  one  excellent  way  of  avoiding  the  drawing  of 
a  false  conclusion  from  a  false  major ;  and  that  is  by 
having  a  false  minor.  Inaccurate  history  is  an  admi- 
rable corrective  of  unreasonable  theory.  And  thus  it 
is  in  the  present  case.  A  bad  general  rule  is  laid 
down,  and  obstinately  maintained,  wherever  the  conse- 
quences are  not  too  monstrous  for  human  bigotry.  But 
when  they  become  so  horrible  that  even  Christ  Church 
shrinks,  that  even  Oriel  stands  aghast,  the  rule  ia 
evaded  by  means  of  a  fictitious  contract.  One  im- 
aginary obligation  is  set  up  against  another.  Mr. 
Gladstone  first  preaches  to  governments  the  duty  _of 
undertaking  an  enterprise  just  as  rational  as  the  Cru- 
sades, and  then  dispenses  them  from  it  on  the  ground  of 
a  treaty  which  is  just  as  authentic  as  the  donation  of 
Constantine  to  Pope  Sylvester.  His  system  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  a  forged  bond  with  a  forged  release 
indorsed  on  the  back  of  it. 

With  more  show  of  reason  he  rests  the  claim  of 
the  Scotch  Church  on  a  contract.  He  considers  that 
contract,  however,  as  most  unjustifiable,  and  speaks 
of  the  setting  up  of  the  Kirk  as  a  disgraceful  blot  on 
the  reign  of  William  the  Third.  Surely  it  would  be 
amusing,  if  it  were  not  melancholy,  to  see  a  man  of 
virtue  and  abilities  unsatisfied  with  the  calamities  which 
Mie  Church,  constituted  on  false  principles,  has  brought 
upon  the  empire,  and  repining  that  Scotland  is  not  in 
die  same  state  with  Ireland,  that  no  Scottish  agitator  ia 


160  GLADSTONE  ON  CHL  RoH  AND  STATE. 

raising  rent  and  putting  county  members  in  and  out, 
that  no  Presbyterian  association  is  dividing  supreme 
power  with  the  government,  that  no  meetings  of  pre- 
cursors and  repealers  are  covering  the  side  of  the 
Calton  Hill,  that  twenty-five  thousand  troops  are  not 
required  to  maintain  order  on  the  north  of  the  Tweed, 
that  the  anniversary  of  the  Battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge 
is  not  regularly  celebrated  by  insult,  riot,  and  murder. 
We  could  hardly  find  a  stronger  argument  against 
Mr.  Gladstone's  system  than  that  which  Scotland 
furnishes.  The  policy  which  has  been  followed  in  that 
country  has  been  directly  opposed  to  the  policy  which 
he  recommends.  And  the  consequence  is  that  Scot- 
land, having  been  one  of  the  rudest,  one  of  the  poorest, 
one  of  the  most  turbulent  countries  in  Europe,  has 
become  one  of  the  most  highly  civilised,  one  of  the 
most  flourishing,  one  of  the  most  tranquil.  The  atroci- 
ties which  were  of  common  occurrence  while  an  un- 
popular church  was  dominant  are  unknown.  In  spite 
of  a  mutual  aversion  as  bitter  as  ever  separated  one 
people  from  another,  the  two  kingdoms  which  compose 
our  island  have  been  indissolubly  joined  together.  Of 
the  ancient  national  feeling  there  remains  just  enough 
to  be  ornamental  and  useful ;  just  enough  to  inspire  the 
poet,  and  to  kindle  a  generous  and  friendly  emulation 
in  the  bosom  of  the  soldier.  But  for  all  the  ends  of  gov~ 
ernment  the  nations  are  one.  And  why  are  they  so  ? 
The  answer  is  simple.  The  nations  are  one  for  all  the 
ends  of  government,  because  in  their  union  the  time 
ends  of  government  alone  were  kept  in  sight.  The 
nations  are  one  because  the  Churches  are  two. 

Such  is  the  union  of  England  with  Scotland,  an 
union  which  resembles  the  union  of  the  limbs  of  one 
aealthful  and  vigorous  body,  all  moved  by  one  will, 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STAFE.  101 

all  co-operating  for  common  ends.  The  system  of  Mr. 
Gladstone  would  have  produced  an  union  which  can 
be  compared  only  to  that  which  is  the  subject  of  a 
wild  Persian  fable.  King  Zohak  —  we  tell  the  story 
as  Mr.  Southey  tells  it  to  us  —  gave  the  devil  leave  to 
kiss  his  shoulders.  Instantly  two  serpents  sprang  out, 
who,  in  the  fury  of  hunger,  attacked  his  head,  and 
attempted  to  get  at  his  brain.  Zohak  pulled  them 
away,  and  tore  them  with  his  nails.  But  he  found 
that  they  were  inseparable  parts  of  himself,  and  that 
what  he  was  lacerating  was  his  own  flesh.  Perhaps 
we  might  be  able  to  find,  if  we  looked  round  the 
world,  some  political  union  like  this,  some  hideous 
monster  of  a  state,  cursed  with  one  principle  of  sensa- 
tion and  two  principles  of  volition,  self-loathing  and 
self-torturing,  made  up  of  parts  which  are  driven  by  a 
frantic  impulse  to  inflict  mutual  pain,  yet  are  doomed 
to  feel  whatever  they  inflict,  which  are  divided  by  an 
irreconcilable  hatred,  yet  are  blended  in  an  indis- 
soluble identity.  Mr.  Gladstone,  from  his  tender  con- 
cern for  Zohak,  is  unsatisfied  because  the  devil  has  as 
yet  kissed  only  one  shoulder,  because  there  is  not  a 
snake  mangling  and  mangled  on  the  left  to  keep  in 
countenance  his  brother  on  the  right. 

But  we  must  proceed  in  our  examination  of  his 
theory.  Having,  as  he  conceives,  proved  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  government  to  profess  some  religion 
or  other,  right  or  wrong,  and  to  establish  that  religion, 
he  then  comes  to  the  question  what  religion  a  govern- 
ment ought  to  prefer ;  and  he  decides  this  question  in 
tavour  of  the  form  of  Christianity  established  in  Eng- 
lan.l.  The  Church  of  England  is,  according  to  him, 
<he  pure  Catholic  Church  of  Christ,  which  possesses 
\he  apostolical  succession  of  ministers,  and  within 


162  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STALE. 

whose  pale  is  to  be  found  that  unity  which  is  essential 
to  truth.  For  her  decisions  he  claims  a  decree  of 

o 

reverence  far  beyond  what  she  has  ever,  in  any  of  her 
formularies,  claimed  for  herself;  far  beyond  what  the 
moderate  school  of  Bossuet  demands  for  the  Pope  j 
and  scarcely  short  of  what  that  school  would  ascribe 
to  Pope  and  General  Council  together.  To  separate 
from  her  communion  is  schism.  To  reject  her  tia- 
ditions  or  interpretations  of  Scripture  is  sinful  pro 
sumption. 

Mr.  Gladstone  pronounces  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment, as  it  is  generally  understood  throughout  Protes- 
tant Europe,  to  be  a  monstrous  abuse,  lie  declares 
himself  favourable,  indeed,  to  the  exercise  of  private 
judgment,  after  a  fashion  of  his  own.  We  have,  ac- 
cording to  him,  a  right  to  judge  all  the  doctrines  of  the 
Church  of  England  to  be  sound,  but  not  to  judge  any 
of  them  to  be  unsound.  He  has  no  object1..  >n,  he  as- 
sures us,  to  active  inquiries  into  religious  questions.  On 
the  contrary,  he  thinks  such  inquiry  highly  desirable, 
as  long  as  it  does  not  lead  to  diversity  of  opinion  ; 
which  is  much  the  same  thing  as  if  he  were  to  recom- 
mend the  use  of  fire  that  will  not  burn  down  houses,  or 
of  brandy  that  will  not  make  men  drunk.  He  con- 
ceives it  to  be  perfectly  possible  for  mankind  to  exercise 
their  intellects  vigorously  and  freely  on  theological  sub- 
jects, and  yet  to  come  to  exactly  the  same  conclusions 
with  each  other  and  with  the  Church  of  England. 
And  for  this  opinion  he  gives,  as  far  as  we  have  been 
able  to  discover,  no  reason  whatever,  except  that  every- 
body who  vigorously  and  freely  exercises  his  under- 
standing on  Euclid's  Theorems  assents  to  them.  "  The 
activity  of  private  judgment,"  he  truly  observes,  "  and 
th«  unity  and  strength  of  conviction  in  mathematics 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND  STATE.  163 

vpry  directly  as  each  other."  On  this  unquestionable 
feet  he  constructs  a  somewhat  questionable  argument. 
Everybody  who  freely  inquires  agrees,  he  says,  with 
Euclid.  But  the  Church  is  as  much  in  the  right  as 
EucliJ.  Why,  then,  should  not  every  free  inquirer 
agree  with  the  Church  ?  We  could  put  many  similar 
questions.  Either  the  affirmative  or  the  negative  of 
the  proposition  that  King  Charles  wrote  the  Icon  Basil- 
ikt,  is  as  time  as  that  two  sides  of  a  triangle  are  greater 
than  the  third  side.  Why,  then,  do  Dr.  Wordsworth 
and  Mr.  Hallam  agree  in  thinking  two  sides  of  a  trian- 
gle greater  than  the  third  side,  and  yet  differ  about  the 
genuineness  of  the  Icon  JSasilike  ?  The  state  of  the 
exact  sciences  proves,  says  Mr.  Gladstone,  that,  as  re- 
spects religion  "  the  association  of  these  two  ideas, 
activity  of  inquiry,  and  variety  of  conclusion,  is  a  falla- 
cious one."  We  might  just  as  well  turn  the  argument 
the  other  way,  and  infer  from  the  variety  of  religious 
opinions  that  there  must  necessarily  be  hostile  mathe- 
matical sects,  some  affirming,  and  some  denying,  that 
the  square  of  the  hypothenuse  is  equal  to  the  squares  of 
the  sides.  But  we  do  not  think  either  the  one  analogy 
or  the  other  of  the  smallest  value.  Our  way  of  ascer- 
taining the  tendency  of  free  inquiry  is  simply  to  open 
our  eyes  and  look  at  the  world  in  which  we  live  ;  and 
there  we  see  that  free  inquiry  on  mathematical  subjects 
produces  unity,  and  that  free  inquiry  on  moral  subjects 
produces  discrepancy.  There  would  undoubtedly  be 
less  discrepancy  if  inquirers  were  more  diligent  and  can- 
did. But  discrepancy  there  will  be  among  the  most 
eminent  and  candid,  as  long  as  the  constitution  of  the 
human  mind,  and  the  nature  of  moral  evidence,  con- 
tinue unchanged.  That  we  have  not  freedom  and  unity 
together  is  a  very  sa'l  thing ;  and  so  it  is  that  we  have 


164  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

not  wings.  But  we  are  just  as  likely  to  see  the  one  :le- 
fect  removed  as  the  other.  It  is  not  only  in  religion 
that  this  discrepancy  is  found.  It  is  the  same  with  all 
•natters  which  depend  on  moral  evidence,  with  judicial 
questions,  for  example,  and  with  political  questions. 
All  the  judges  will  work  a  sum  in  the  rule  of  three  on 
the  same  principle,  and  bring  out  the  same  conclusion. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that,  however  honest  and  labori- 
ous they  may  be,  they  will  all  be  of  one  mind  on  the 
Douglas  case.  So  it  is  vain  to  ,iupe  that  there  may 
be  a  free  constitution  under  which  every  representative 
will  be  unanimously  elected,  and  every  law  unanimously 
passed ;  and  it  would  be  ridiculous  for  a  statesman  to 
stand  wondering  and  bemoaning  himself  because  people 
who  agree  in  thinking  that  two  and  two  make  four 
cannot  agree  about  the  new  poor  law,  or  the  adminis- 
tration of  Canada. 

There  are  two  intelligible  and  consistent  courses 
which  may  be  followed  with  respect  to  the  exercise  of 
private  judgment ;  the  course  of  the  Romanist,  who 
interdicts  private  judgment  because  of  its  inevitable 
inconveniences ;  and  the  course  of  the  Protestant,  who 
permits  private  judgment  in  spite  of  its  inevitable  in- 
conveniences. Both  are  more  reasonable  than  Mr. 
Gladstone,  who  would  have  private  judgment  without 
its  inevitable  inconveniences.  .  The  Romanist  produces 
repose  by  means  of  stupefaction.  The  Protestant  en- 
courages activity,  though  he  knows  that  where  there  is 
much  activity  there  will  be  some  aberration.  Mr. 
Gladstone  wishes  for  the  unity  of  the  fifteenth  century 
with  the  active  and  searching  spirit  of  the  sixteenth. 
He  might  as  well  wish  to  be  in  two  places  at  once. 

When  Mr.  Gladstone  says  that  we  "  actually  require 
discrepancy  of  opinion  —  require  and  demand  error 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  165 

falsehood,  blindness,  and  plume  ourselves  on  sucli  dis- 
crepancy as  attesting  a  freedom  which  is  only  valuable 
when  used  for  unity  in  the  truth,"  he  expresses  himself 
with  more  energy  than  precision.  Nobody  loves  dis- 
crepancy for  the  sake  of  discrepancy.  But  a  person 
who  conscientiously  believes  that  free  inquiry  is,  on  the 
whole,  beneficial  to  the  interests  of  truth,  and  that, 
from  the  imperfection  of  the  human  faculties,  wherever 
there  is  much  free  inquiry  there  will  be  some  discrep- 
ancy, may,  without  impropriety,  consider  such  discrep- 
ancy, though  in  itself  an  evil,  as  a  sign  of  good.  That 
there  are  ten  thousand  thieves  in  London,  is  a  very 
melancholy  fact.  But,  looked  at  in  one  point  of  view, 
it  is  a  reason  for  exultation.  For  what  other  city 
could  maintain  ten  thousand  thieves  ?  What  must  be 
the  mass  of  wealth,  where  the  fragments  gleaned  by 
lawless  pilfering  rise  to  so  large  an  amount  ?  St.  Kilda 
would  not  support  a  single  pickpocket.  The  quantity 
of  theft  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  an  index  of  the  quantity 
of  useful  industry  and  judicious  speculation.  And  just 
as  we  may,  from  the  great  number  of  rogues  in  a  town, 
infer  that  much  honest  gain  is  made  there ;  so  may  we 
often,  from  the  quantity  of  error  in  a  community,  draw 
a  cheering  inference  as  to  the  degree  in  which  the  pub- 
lic mind  is  turned  to  those  inquiries  which  alone  can 
lead  to  rational  convictions  of  truth. 

Mr.  Gladstone  seems  to  imagine  that  most  Protes- 
tants think  it  possible  for  the  same  doctrine  to  be  at 
once  true  and  false ;  or  that  they  think  it  immaterial 
idicther,  on  a  religious  question,  a  man  comes  to  a  trua 
or  a  false  conclusion.  If  there  be  any  Protestants  who 
hold  notions  so  absurd,  we  abandon  them  to  his  cen- 
sure. 

The  PrcA,estant  doctrine  touching  the  right  of  private 


166  GLADSTONE  OX  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

judgment,  that  doctrine  which  is  the  common  founda- 
tion of  the  Anglican,  the  Lutheran,  and  the  Calvinistic 
Churches,  that  doctrine  by  which  every  sect  of  dissent- 
ers vindicates  its  separation,  we  conceive  not  to  be  this, 
that  opposite  doctrines  may  both  be  true ;  nor  this,  that 
truth  and  falsehood  are  both  equally  good ;  r  ji  yet 
this,  that  all  speculative  error  is  necessarily  innocent , 
but  this,  that  there  is  on  the  face  of  the  earth  no  visi- 
ble body  to  whose  decrees  men  are  bound  to  submit 
their  private  judgment  on  points  of  faith. 

Is  there  always  such  a  visible  body  ?  Was  there 
such  a  visible  body  in  the  year  1500  ?  If  not,  why 
are  we  to  believe  that  there  is  such  a  body  in  the 
year  1839  ?  If  there  was  such  a  body  in  the  year 
1500,  what  was  it  ?  Was  it  the  Church  of  Rome  ? 
And  how  can  the  Church  of  England  be  orthodox  now 
if  the  Church  of  Rome  was  orthodox  then  ? 

"  In  England,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone,  "  the  case  was 
widely  different  from  that  of  the  Continent.  Her  ref- 
ormation did  not  destroy,  but  successfully  maintained 
the  unity  and  succession  of  the  Church  in  her  apostoli- 
cal ministry.  We  have,  therefore,  still  among  us  the 
ordained  hereditary  witnesses  of  the  truth,  conveying 
it  to  us  through  an  unbroken  series  from  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  and  his  Apostles.  This  is  to  us  the  ordi- 
nary voice  of  authority ;  of  authority  equally  reason- 
able and  equally  true,  whether  we  will  hear,  or  whether 
we  will  forbear." 

Mr.  Gladstone's  reasoning  is  not  so  clear  as  might  be 
desired.  We  have  among  us,  he  says,  ordained  hered- 
itary witnesses  of  the  truth,  and  their  voice  is  to  us  the 
Foice  of  authority.  Undoubtedly,  if  they  are  witnesses 
of  the  truth,  their  voice  is  the  voice  of  authority.  But 
this  is  little  more  than  saying  that  the  truth  is  th« 


GLADSTONE  OX  CUDRCH  AND  STATE.  167 

truth.  Nor  is  truth  more  true  because  it  conies  in  a» 
unbroken  series  from  the  Apostles.  The  Nicene  faitu 
is  not  more  true  in  the  mouth  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  than  in  that  of  a  moderator  of  the  General 
Assembly.  If  our  respect  for  the  authority  of  the 
Church  is  to  be  only  consequent  upon  our  conviction 
of  the  truth  of  her  doctrines,  we  come  at  once  to  that 
monstrous  abuse,  the  Protestant  exercise  of  private 
Judgment.  But  if  Mr.  Gladstone  means  that  we 
ought  to  believe  that  the  Church  of  England  speaks 
the  truth  because  she  has  the  apostolical  succession,  we^ 
greatly  doubt  whether  such  a  doctrine  can  be  main- 
tained. In  the  first  place,  what  proof  have  we  of  the 
tact?  We  have,  indeed,  heard  it  said  that  Providence 
would  certain jy  have  interfered  to  preserve  the  apos- 
tolical succession  in  the  true  Church.  But  this  is  an 
argument  fitted  for  understandings  of  a  different  kind 
from  Mr.  Gladstone's.  He  will  hardly  tell  us  that  the 
Church  of  England  is  the  true  Church  because  she  has 
the  succession ;  and  that  she  has  the  succession  because 
she  is  the  true  Church. 

What  evidence,  then,  have  we  for  the  fact  of  the 
apostolical  succession?  And  here  we  may  easily  de- 
fend the  truth  against  Oxford  with  the  same  arguments 
with  which,  in  old  times,  the  truth  was  defended  by 
Oxford  against  Rome.  In  this  stage  of  our  combat 
with  Mr.  Gladstone,  we  need  few  weapons  except 
those  which  we  find  in  the  well-furnished  and  well- 
ordered  armoury  of  Chillingworth. 

The  transmission  of  orders  from  the  Apostles  to  an 
English  clergyman  of  the  present  day  must  have  been 
through  a  very  great  number  of  intermediate  persons. 
Now,  it  is  probable  that  no  clergyman  in  the  Church 
of  England  can  trace  up  his  spiritual  genealogy  from 


J.68  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

Dishop  to  bishop  so  far  back  as  the  time  of  the  Con- 
quest. There  remain  many  centuries  during  which 
the  history  of  the  transmission  of  his  orders  is  buried  in 
utter  darkness.  And  whether  he  be  a  priest  by  suc- 
cession from  the  Apostles  depends  on  the  question, 
whether  during  that  long  period,  some  thousands  of 
events  took  place,  any  one  of  which  may,  without  any 
gross  improbability,  be  supposed  not  to  have  taken 
place.  We  have  not  a  tittle  of  evidence  for  any  one 
of  these  events.  We  do  not  even  know  the  names  or 
countries  of  the  men  to  whom  it  is  taken  for  granted 
that  these  events  happened.  We  do  not  kno;v  whether 
the  spiritual  ancestors  of  any  one  of  our  contempora- 
ries were  Spanish  or  Armenian,  Arian  or  Orthodox. 
In  the  utter  absence  of  all  particular  evidence,  we  are 
surely  entitled  to  require  that  there  should  be  very 
strong  evidence  indeed  that  the  strictest  regularity 
was  observed  in  every  generation,  and  that  episcopal 
functions  were  exercised  by  none  who  were  not  bish- 
ops by  succession  from  the  Apostles.  But  we  have 
no  such  evidence.  In  the  first  place,  we  Lave  not 
full  and  accurate  information  touching  the  polity  of  the 
Church  during  the  centuiy  which  followed  the  per- 
secution of  Nero.  That,  during  this  period,  the 
overseers  of  all  the  little  Christian  societies  scattered 
through  the  Roman  empire,  held  their  spiritual  author- 
ity by  virtue  of  holy  orders  derived  from  the  Apostles, 
cannot  be  proved  by  contemporary  testimony,  or  by 
any  testimony  which  can  be  regarded  as  decisive. 
The  question,  whether  the  primitive  ecclesiastical  con- 
Btitution  bore  a  greater  resemblance  to  the  Anglican 
or  to  the  Calvinistic  model  has  been  fiercely  disputed. 
It  is  a  question  on  which  men  of  eminent  parts,  learn- 
ing, and  piety  have  differed,  and  do  to  this  day  differ 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCII  AND  STATE.  169 

fery  widely.  It  is  a  question  on  which  at  least  a  full 
half  of  the  ability  and  erudition  of  Protestant  Europe 
has,  ever  since  the  Reformation,  been  opposed  to  the 
Anglican  pretensions.  Mr.  Gladstone  himself,  we  are 
persuaded,  would  have  the  candour  to  allow  that,  if 
no  evidence  were  admitted  but  that  which  is  furnished 
by  the  genuine  Christian  literature  of  the  first  two 
centuries,  judgment  would  not  go  in  favour  of  prelacy. 
And  if  he  looked  at  the  subject  as  calmly  as  he  would 
look  at  a  controversy  respecting  the  Roman  Comitia 
or  the  Anglo-Saxon  Wittenagemote,  he  would  proba- 
bly think  that  the  absence  of  contemporary  evidence 
during  so  long  a  period  was  a  defect  which  later  attes- 
tations, however  numerous,  could  but  very  imperfectly 
supply.  It  is  surely  impolitic  to  rest  the  doctrines  of 
the  English  Church  on  a  historical  theory  which,  to 
ninety-nine  Protestants  out  of  a  hundred,  would  seem 
much  more  questionable  than  any  of  those  doctrines. 
Nor  is  this  all.  Extreme  obscurity  overhangs  the  his- 
tory of  the  middle  ages  ;  and  the  facts  which  are  dis- 
cernible through  that  obscurity  prove  that  the  Church 
was  exceedingly  ill-regulated.  We  read  of  sees  of 
me  highest  dignity  openly  sold,  transferred  backwards 
and  forwards  by  popular  tumult,  bestowed  sometimes 
by  a  profligate  woman  on  her  paramour,  sometimes 
by  a  warlike  baron  on  a  kinsman  still  a  stripling. 
We  read  of  bishops  of  ten  years  old,  of  bishops  of 
five  years  old,  of  many  popes  who  were  mere  boys, 
and  who  rivalled  the  frantic  dissoluteness  of  Caligula, 
nay,  of  a  female  pope.  And  though  this  last  story, 
once  believed  throughout  all  Europe,  has  been  dis- 
proved by  the  strict  researches  of  modern  criticism, 
the  most  discerning  of  those  who  reject  it  have 
admitted  that  it  is  not  intrinsically  improbable.  In 

VOL.  IV.  i 


170  GLADSTONE  OX  CllUW  A  AND  STATE. 

bur  own  island,  it  was  the  complaint  of  Alfred  tha' 
not  a  single  priest  south  of  the  Thames,  and  very  fe^ 
on  the  north,  could  read  either  Latin  or  English. 
And  this  illiterate  clergy  exercised  their  ministry 
amidst  a  rude  and  half-heathen  population,  in  which 
Danish  pirates,  unchristened,  or  christened  by  the 
hundred  on  a  field  of  battle,  were  mingled  with  a 
Saxon  peasantry  scarcely  better  instructed  in  religion. 
The  state  of  Ireland  was  still  worse.  "  Tota  ilia  per 
universam  Hiberniam  dissolutio  ecclesiastica?  discipline, 
ilia  ubique  pro  consuetudine  Christiana  sseva  subintro- 
ducta  barbaries,"  are  the  expressions  of  St.  Bernard. 
We  are,  therefore,  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  any 
clergyman  can  feel  confident  that  his  orders  have  come 
down  correctly.  Whether  he  be  really  a  successor  of 
the  Apostles  depends  on  an  immense  number  of  such 
contingencies  as  these ;  whether,  under  King  Ethel- 
wolf,  a  stupid  priest  might  not,  while  baptizing  several 
scores  of  Danish  prisoners  who  had  just  made  their 
option  between  the  font  and  the  gallows, ^  inadvertently 
omit  to  perform  the  rite  on  one  of  these  graceless 
proselytes  ;  whether,  in  the  seventh  century,  an  impos- 
tor, who  had  never  received  consecration,  might  not 
have  passed  himself  off  as  a  bishop  on  a  rude  tribe  of 
Scots ;  whether  a  lad  of  twelve  did  really,  by  a  cere- 
mony huddled  over  when  he  was  too  drunk  to  know 
what  he  was  about,  convey  the  episcopal  character  to  a 
.lad  of  ten. 

Since  the  first  century,  not  less,  in  all  probability, 
than  a  hundred  thousand  persons  have  exercised  the 
(unctions  of  bishops.  That  many  of  these  have  not 
been  bishops  by  apostolical  succession  is  quite  certain. 
Hooker  admits  that  deviations  from  the  general  rule 
Jiave  been  frequent,  and  with  a  boldness  worthy  of 


GLADSTONE  ON   CflURCH  AND  STATE.  171 

nis  high  and  statesmanlike  intellect,  pronounces  them 
to  have  been  often  justifiable.  "  There  may  be,"  says 
he,  "  sometimes  very  just  and  sufficient  reason  to 
allow  ordination  made  without  a  bishop.  Where  the 
Church  must  needs  have  some  ordained,  and  neither 
hath  nor  can  have  possibly  a  bishop  to  ordain,  in  case 
of  such  necessity  the  ordinary  institution  of  God  hath 
given  oftentimes,  and  may  give  place.  And  therefore 
we  are  not  simply  without  exception  to  urge  a  lineal 
descent  of  power  from  the  Apostles  by  continued 
succession  of  bishops  in  every  effectual  ordination." 
There  can  be  little  doubt,  we  think,  that  the  succession, 
if  it  ever  existed,  has  often  been  interrupted  in  ways 
much  less  respectable.  For  example,  let  us  suppose, 
and  we  are  sure  that  no  well-informed  person  will 
think  the  supposition  by  ar.y  means  improbable,  that, 
in  the  third  century,  a  man  of  no  principle  and  some 
parts,  who  has,  in  the  course  of  a  roving  and  discredit- 
able life,  been  a  catechumen  at  Antioch,  and  lias  there 
become  familiar  with  Christian  usages  and  doctrines, 
afterwards  rambles  to  Marseilles,  where  he  finda  a 
Christian  society,  rich,  liberal,  and  simple-hearted.  He 
pretends  to  be  a  Christian,  attracts  notice  by  his  abili- 
ties and  affected  zeal,  and  is  raised  to  the  episcopal  dig- 
nity without  having  ever  been  baptized.  That  such  an 
event  might  happen,  nay,  was  very  likely  to  happen, 
.'annot  well  be  disputed  by  any  one  who  has  read  the 
Life  of  Peregrinus.  The  very  virtues,  indeed,  which 
distinguished  the  early  Christians,  seem  to  have  laid 
them  open  to  those  arts  which  deceived 

"  Uriel,  though  Regent  of  the  Sun,  and  held 
The  sharpest-sighted  spirit  of  all  in  Heavcii." 

Now   this  unbuptized  impostor  is  evidently  no  sue- 


172  GLADSTONE  ON  CHDRCH  AND  STATE. 

cessor  of  the  Apostles.  •  He  is  not  even  a  Christian 
and  all  orders  derived  through  such  a  pretended  bishop 
are  altogether  invalid.  Do  we  know  enough  of  the 
state  of  the  world  and  of  the  Church  in  the  third 
century  to  be  able  to  say  with  confidence  that  there 
were  not  at  that  time  twenty  such  pretended  bishops  ? 
Every  such  case  makes  a  break  in  the  apostolical  suc- 
cession. 

Now,  suppose  that  a  break,  such  as  Hooker  admits 
to  have  been  both  common  and  justifiable,  or  such  as 
we  have  supposed  to  be  produced  by  hypocrisy  and 
cupidity,  Avere  found  in  the  chain  which  connected  the 
Apostles  with  any  of  the  missionaries  who  first  spread 
Christianity  in  the  wilder  parts  of  Europe,  who  can  say 
how  extensive  the  effect  of  this  single  break  may  be  ? 
Suppose  that  St.  Patrick,  for  example,  if  ever  there  was 
such  a  man,  or  Theodore  of  Tarsus,  who  is  said  to 
have  consecrated  in  the  seventh  century  the  first 
bishops  of  many  English  sees,  had  not  the  true  apostol- 
ical orders,  is  it  not  conceivable  that  such  a  circum- 
stance may  affect  the  orders  of  many  clergymen  now 
living  ?  Even  if  it  were  possible,  which  it  assuredly  is 
not,  to  prove  that  the  Church  had  the  apostolical 
orders  in  the  third  century,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
prove  that  those  orders  were  not  in  the  twelfth  century 
to  far  lost  that  no  ecclesiastic  could  be  certain  of  the 
legitimate  descent  of  his  own  spiritual  character.  And 
if  this  were  so,  no  subsequent  precautions  could  repair 
the  evil. 

Chillingworth  states  the  conclusion  at  which  he  had 
Arrived  on  this  subject  in  these  very  remarkable  words : 
"  That  of  ten  thousand  probables  no  one  should  be  false  • 
that  of  ten  thousand  requisites,  whereof  any  one  may 
fail,  not  one  should  be  wanting,  this  to  me  is  extremely 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  173 

improbable,  and  even  cousin-german  to  impossible. 
So  that  the  assurance  hereof  is  like  a  machine  com- 
posed of  an  innumerable  multitude  of  pieces,  of  which 
it  is  strangely  unlikely  but  some  will  be  out  of  order  ; 
and  yet,  if  any  one  be  so,  the  whole  fabric  falls  of  ne- 
cessity to  the  ground  :  and  he  that  shall  put  them  to- 
gether, and  maturely  consider  all  the  possible  ways  of 
lapsing  and  nullifying  a  priesthood  in  the  Church  of 
Rome,  will  be  very  inclinable  to  think  that  it  is  a  hun- 
dred to  one,  that  among  a  hundred  seeming  priests, 
there  is  not  one  true  one  ;  nay,  that  it  is  not  a  thing 
very  improbable  that,  amongst  those  many  millions 
which  make  up  the  Romish  hierarchy,  there  are  not 
twenty  true."  We  do  not  pretend  to  know  to  what 
precise  extent  the  canonists  of  Oxford  agree  with  those 
of  Rome  as  to  the  circumstances  which  nullify  orders. 
We  will  not,  therefore,  go  so  far  as  Chillingworth. 
We  only  say  that  wre  see  no  satisfactory  proof  of  the 
fact,  that  the  Church  of  England  possesses  the  apos- 
tolical succession.  Arid,  after  all,  if  Mr.  Gladstone 
could  prove  the  apostolical  succession,  what  would  the 
apostolical  succession  prove  ?  He  says  that  "  we 
have  among  us  the  ordained  hereditary  witnesses  of  the 
truth,  conveying  it  to  us  through  an  unbroken  series 
from  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  his  Apostles."  Is  this 
the  fact?  Is  there  any  doubt  that  the  orders  of  the 
Church  of  England  are  generally  derived  from  the 
Church  of  Rome  ?  Does  not  the  Church  of  England 
Jcclare,  does  not  Mr.  Gladstone  himself  admit,  that  the 
Church  of  Rome  teaches  much  error  and  condemns 
much  truth  ?  And  is  it  not  quite  clear,  that  as  far  as 
•he  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  England  differ  from 
those  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  so  far  the  Church  of 
England  conveys  the  truth  through  a  broken  series  ? 


174  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

That  the  founders,  lay  and  clerical,  of  the  Church  of 
England,  corrected  all  that  required  correction  in  tins 
doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  nothing  more, 
may  be  quite  true.  But  we  never  can  admit  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  Church  of  England  possesses  the 
apostolical  succession  as  a  proof  that  she  is  thus  perfect. 
No  stream  can  rise  higher  than  its  fountain.  The  suc- 
cession of  ministers  in  the  Church  of  England,  derived 
as  it  is  through  the  Church  of  Rome,  can  never  prove 
more  for  the  Church  of  England  than  it  proves  for  the 
Church  of  Rome.  But  this  is  not  all.  The  Arian 
Churches  which  once  predominated  in  the  kingdoms  of 
the  -Ostrogoths,  the  Visigoths,  the  Burgundians,  the 
Vandals,  and  the  Lombards,  were  all  episcopal  churches, 
and  all  had  a  fairer  claim  than  that  of  England  to  the 
apostolical  succession,  as  being  much  nearer  to  the  apos- 
tolical times.  In  the  East,  the  Greek  Church,  which 
is  at  variance  on  points  of  faith  with  all  the  Western 
Churches,  has  an  equal  claim  to  this  succession.  The 
Nestorian,  the  Eutychian,  the  Jacobite  Churches,  all 
heretical,  all  condemned  by  councils,  of  which  even 
Protestant  divines  have  generally  spoken  with  respect, 
had  an  equal  claim  to  the  apostolical  succession.  Now 
if,  of  teachers  having  apostolical  orders,  a  vast  majority 
have  taught  much  error,  if  a  large  proportion  have 
taught  deadly  heresy,  if,  on  the  other  hand,  as  Mr. 
Gladstone  himself  admits,  churches  not  having  apostol- 
ical orders,  that  of  Scotland  for  example,  have  been 
nearer  to  the  standard  of  orthodoxy  than  the  majority 
of  teachers  who  have  had  apostolical  orders,  how  can 
he  possibly  call  upon  us  to  submit  our  private  judgment 
to  the  authority  vf  a  Church  on  the  ground  that  she 
has  these  orders  ? 

Mr.  Gladstone  dv/ells  much  on  the  importance  of 


GLADSTONE  OX  CHURCH  AND   STAIMi.  175 

unity  in  doctrine.  Unity,  he  tells  us,  is  essential  to 
truth.  And  this  is  most  unquestionable.  But  when 
he  goes  on  to  tell  us  that  this  unitv  is  the  character- 

«/ 

istic  of  the  Church  of  England,  that  she  is  one  in 
body  and  in  spirit,  we  are  compelled  to  differ  from 
him  widely.  The  apostolical  succession  .she  may  or 
may  not  have.  But  unity  she  most  certainly  has  not, 
and  never  has  had.  It  is  matter  of  perfect  notoriety, 
that  her  formularies  are  framed  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  admit  to  her  highest  offices  men  who  differ  from 
each  other  more  widely  than  a  very  high  Churchman 
differs  from  a  Catholic,  or  a  very  low  Churchman 
from  a  Presbyterian  ;  and  that  the  general  leaning  of 
the  Church,  with  respect  to  some  important  questions, 
has  been  sometimes  one  way  and  sometimes  another. 
Take,  for  example,  the  questions  agitated  between 
the  Calvinists  and  the  Arminians.  Do  we  find  in  the 
Church  of  England,  with  respect  to  those  questions, 
that  unity  which  is  essential  to  truth  ?  Was  it  ever 
found  in  the  Church  ?  Is  it  not  certain  that,  at  the 
end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  rulers  of  the  Church 
held  doctrines  as  CalvJuistic  as  ever  were  held  by 
any  Cameronian,  and  not  only  held  them,  but  perse- 
cuted everybody  who  did  not  hold  them  ?  And  is  it 
not  equally  certain,  that  the  rulers  of  the  Church 
have,  in  very  recent  times,  considered  Calvinism  as  a 
•.disqualification  for  Ivgh  preferment,  if  not  for  holy 
arders  ?  Look  at  the  questions  which  Archbishop 
Whitgift  propounded  to  Barret,  questions  framed  in 
the  very  spirit  of  William  Huntington,  S.  S.1  And 
then  look  at  the  eighty-seven  questions  which  Bishop 

1  On<)  question  was,  whether  God  had  from  eternity  rtprolml.ed  certaif 
persons;  and  why?  The  answer  which  ccntented  the  Archbishop  wai 
'  Affirmative,  et  quia  voluit." 


176  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

Marsh,  within  our  own  memory,  propounded  to  can- 
didates for  ordination.  We  should  be  loth  to  say 
that  either  of  these  celebrated  prelates  had  intruded 
himself  into  a  Church  whose  doctrines  he  abhorred, 
and  that  he  deserved  to  be  stripped  of  his  gown.  Yet 
it  is  quite  certain  that  one  or  other  of  them  must  have 
been  very  greatly  in  error.  John  Wesley  again,  and 
Cowper's  friend,  John  Newton,  were  both  Presbyters 
of  this  Church.  Both  were  men  of  ability.  Both  we 
believe  to  have  been  men  of  rigid  integrity,  men  who 
would  not  have  subscribed  a  Confession  of  Faith  which 
they  disbelieved  for  the  richest  bishopric  in  the  empire. 
Yet,  on  the-  subject  of  predestination,  Newton  was 
strongly  attached  to  doctrines  which  Wesley  designated 
as  "  blasphemy,  which  might  make  the  ears  of  a  Chris- 
tian to  tingle."  Indeed,  it  will  not  be  disputed  that 
the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church  are  divided  as  to 
these  questions,  and  that  her  formularies  are  not  found 
practically  to  exclude  even  scrupulously  honest  men  of 
both  sides  from  her  altars.  It  is  notorious  that  some  of 
her  most  distinguished  rulers  think  this  latitude  a  good 
thing,  and  would  be  sorry  to  see  it  restricted  in  favour 
of  either  opinion.  And  herein  we  most  cordially  agree 
with  them.  But  what  becomes  of  the  unity  of  the 
Church,  and  of  that  truth  to  which  unity  is  essential  ? 
Mr.  Gladstone  tells  us  that  the  llegium  Donum  was 
given  originally  to  orthodox  Presbyterian  ministers, 
but  that  part  of  it  is  now  received  by  their  heterodox 
successors.  "  This,"  he  says,  "  serves  to  illustrate 
the  difficulty  in  which  governments  entangle  them- 
selves, when  they  covenant  with  arbitrary  systems  of 
Dpinion.  and  not  with  the  Church  alone.  The  opinion 
passes  away,  but  the  gift  remains."  But  is  it  not 
clear,  that  if  a  strong  Supralapsarian  iiad,  under 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  177 

Wliitgift's  primacy,  left  a  large  estate  at  the  disposal 
of  the  bishops  for  ecclesiastical  purposes,  in  the  hope 
that  the  rulers  of  the  Church  would  abide  by  Whit- 
gift's  theology,  he  would  really  have  been  giving  his 
substance  for  the  support  of  doctrines  which  he  de- 
iested  ?  The  opinion  would  have  passed  away,  and 
the  gift  would  have  remained. 

This  is  only  a  single  instance.  What  wide  differ- 
ences of  opinion  respecting  the  operation  of  the  sacra- 
ments are  held  by  bishops,  doctors,  presbyters  of  the 
Church  of  England,  all  men  who  have  conscientiously 
declared  their  assent  to  her  articles,  all  men  who  are, 
according  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  ordained  hereditary  wit- 
nesses of  the  truth,  all  men  whose  voices  make  up 
what,  he  tells  us,  is  the  voice  of  true  and  reasonable 
authority !  Here,  again,  the  Church  has  not  unity ; 
and  as  unity  is  the  essential  condition  of  truth,  the 
Church  has  not  the  truth. 

Nay,  take  the  very  question  which  we  are  discuss- 
ing with  Mr.  Gladstone.  To  what  extent  does  the 
Church  of  England  allow  of  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment ?  What  degree  of  authority  does  she  -  claim  for 
herself  in  virtue  of  the  apostolical  succession  of  her 
ministers  ?  Mr.  Gladstone,  a  very  able  and  a  very 
honest  man,  takes  a  view  of  this  matter  widely  dif- 
fering from  the  view  taken  by  others  whom  he  will 
admit  to  be  as  able  and  as  honest  as  himself.  People 
who  altogether  dissent  from  him  on  this  subject  eat 
the  bread  of  the  Church,  preach  in  her  pulpits,  dis- 
pense her  sacraments,  confer  her  orders,  and  cariy  on 
Jiat  apostolical  succession,  the  nature  and  importance 
of  which,  according  to  him,  they  do  not  comprehend. 
Is  this  unity  ?  Is  this  truth  ? 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  are  not  putting  cases  of 


178  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

dishonest  men  who,  for  the  sake  of  lucre,  falsely  pre- 
tend to  believe  in  the  doctrines  of  an  establishment. 
We  are  putting  cases  of  men  as  upright  as  ever  lived, 
who,  differing  on  theological  questions  of  the  highest 
importance,  and  avowing  that  difference,  are  yet  priesta 
and  prelates  of  the  same  Church.  We  therefore  say, 
that  on  some  points  which  Mr.  Gladstone  himself  thinks 
of  vital  importance,  the  Church  has  either  not  spoken 
at  all,  or,  what  is  for  all  practical  purposes  the  same 
thing,  has  not  spoken  in  language  to  be  understood 
even  by  honest  and  sagacious  divines.  The  religion  of 
the  Church  of  England  is  so  far  from  exhibiting  that 
unity  of  doctrine  which  Mr.  Gladstone  represents  as  her 
distinguishing  glory,  that  it  is,  in  fact,  a  bundle  of  re- 
ligious systems  without  number.  It  compinses  the  re- 
ligious system  of  Bishop  Tomhne,  and  the  religious 
system  of  John  Newton,  and  all  the  religious  systems 
which  lie  between  them.  It  comprises  the  religious 
system  of  Mr.  Newman,  and  the  religious  system  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Dublin,  and  all  the  religious  systems 
which  lie  between  them.  All  these  different  opinions 
are  held,  avowed,  preached,  printed,  within  the  pale  of 
the  Church,  by  men  of  unquestioned  integrity  and  un- 
derstanding. 

O 

Do  we  make  this  diversity  a  topic  of  reproach  to  the 
Church  of  England  ?  Far  from  it.  We  would  oppose 
with  all  our  power  every  attempt  to  narrow  her  basis  ! 
Would  to  God  that,  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  a 
good  king  and  a  good  primate  had  possessed  the  power 
as  well  as  the  will  to  widen  it !  It  was  a  noble  enter- 
prise, worthy  of  William  and  of  Tillotson.  But  what 
becomes  of  all  Mr.  Gladstone's  eloquent  exhortations 
to  unity  ?  Is  it  not  mere  mockery  to  attach  so  much 
importance  to  unity  in  form  and  name,  where  there  ia 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH   i.ND  STATE.  179 

BO  little  in  substance,  to  shudder  at  the  thought  of  two 
churches  in  alliance  with  one  state,  and  to  endure  with 
patience  the  spectacle  of  a  hundred  sects  battling  within 
one  church?  And  is  it  not  clear  that  Mr.  Gladstone 
is  bound,  on  all  his  own  principles,  to  abandon  the  de- 
fence of  a  church  in  which  unity  is  not  found  ?  Is  it 
not  clear  that  he  is  bound  to  divide  the  House  of  Com- 
mons against  every  grant  of  money  which  may  be  pro- 
posed for  the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church  in  the 
colonies  ?  He  objects  to  the  vote  for  Maynooth,  be- 
cause it  is  monstrous  to  pay  one  man  to  teach  truth, 
and  another  to  denounce  that  truth  as  falsehood.  But 
it  is  a  mere  chance  whether  any  sum  which  he  votes  for 
the  English  Church  in  any  colony  will  go  to  the  main- 
tenance of  an  Arminian  or  a  Calvinist,  of  a  man  like 
Mr.  Froude,  or  of  a  man  like  Dr.  Arnold.  It  is  a 
mere  chance,  therefore,  whether  it  will  go  to  support  a 
teacher  of  truth,  or  one  who  will  denounce  that  truth  as 
falsehood. 

This  argument  seems  to  us  at  once  to  dispose  of  all 
that  part  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  book  which  respects  grants 
of  public  money  to  dissenting  bodies.  All  such  grants 
he  condemns.  But  surely,  if  it  be  wrong  to  give  the 
money  of  the  public  for  the  support  of  those  who  teach 
false  doctrine,  it  is  wrong  to  give  that  money  for  the 
support  of  the  ministers  of  the  Established  Church.  For 
it  is  quite  certain  that,  whether  Calvin  or  Arminius  be 
in  the  right,  whether  Laud  or  Burnet  be  in  the  right, 
a  great  deal  of  false  doctrine  is  taught  by  the  ministers 
of  the  Established  Church.  If  it  be  said  that  the  points 
on  which  the  clergy  of  the  Church  of  England  differ 
ought  to  be  passed  over,  for  the  sake  of  the  many  im- 
portant points  on  which  they  agree,  wrhy  may  not  the 
same  argument  be  maintained  with  respect  to  othet 


180  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

Beets  which  hold  in  common  with  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land the  fundamental  doctrines  of  Christianity  ?  The 
principle  that  a  ruler  is  bound  in  conscience  to  propa- 
gate religious  truth,  and  to  propagate  no  religious  doc- 
trine which  is  untrue,  is  abandoned  as  soon  as  it  is  ad- 
mitted that  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  opinions 
may  lawfully  vote  the  public  money  to  a  chaplain  whose 
opinions  are  those  of  Paley  or  Simeon.  The  whole 
question  then  becomes  one  of  degree.  Of  course  no 
individual  and  no  government  can  justifiably  propagate 
"jrror  for  the  sake  of  propagating  error.  But  both  in- 
lividuals  and  governments  must  work  with  such  ma- 

O 

chinery  as  they  have  ;  and  no  human  machinery  is  to 
be  found  which  will  impart  truth  without  some  alloy  of 
error.  We  have  shown  irrefragably,  as  we  think,  that 
the  Church  of  England  does  not  afford  such  a  ma- 
chinery. The  question  then  is  this  ;  with  what  degree 
of  imperfection  in  our  machinery  must  we  put  up  ? 
And  to  this  question  we  do  not  see  how  any  general 
answer  can  be  given.  We  must  be  guided  by  circum- 
stances. It  would,  for  example,  be  very  criminal  in 
a  Protestant  to  contribute  to  the  sending  of  Jesuit 
missionaries  among  a  Protestant  population.  But  we 
do  not  conceive  that  a  Protestant  would  be  to  blame 
for  giving  assistance  to  Jesuit  missionaries  who  might 
be  engaged  in  converting  the  Siamese  to  Christianity. 
That  tares  are  mixed  with  the  wheat  is  matter  of  re- 
gret ;  but  it  is  better  that  wheat  and  tares  should 
grow  together  than  that  the  promise  of  the  year  should 
be  blighted. 

Mr.  Gladstone,  we  see,  with  deep  regret,  censures 
the  British  government  in  India  for  distributing  a  small 
Bum  among  the  Catholic  priests  who  minister  to  the 
«>iritual  wants  of  our  Irish  soldiers.  Now,  let  us  put 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  181 

a  case  to  him.  A  Protestant  gentleman  is  attended  by 
a  Catholic  servant,  in  a  part  of  the  country  where 
there  is  no  Catholic  congregation  within  many  miles. 
The  servant  is  taken  ill,  and  is  given  over.  He  desires, 
in  great  trouble  of  mind,  to  receive  the  last  sacraments 
of  his  Church.  His  master  sends  off  a  messenger  in  a 
chaise  and  four,  with  orders  to  bring  a  confessor  from  a 
town  at  a  considerable  distance.  Here  a  Protestant 
lays  out  money  for  the  purpose  of  causing  religious  in- 
struction and  consolation  to  be  given  by  a  Catholic 
priest.  Has  he  committed  a  sin  ?  Has  he  not  acted 
like  a  good  master  and  a  good  Christian  ?  Would  Mr. 
Gladstone  accuse  him  of  "  laxity  of  religious  principle," 
of  "  confounding  truth  with  falsehood,"  of  "  consider- 
ing the  support  of  religion  as  a  boon  to  an  individual, 
not  as  a  homage  to  truth  ?  "  But  how  if  this  servant 
had,  for  the  sake  of  his  master,  undertaken  a  journey 
which  removed  him  from  the  place  where  he  might 
easily  have  obtained  religious  attendance  ?  How  if  his 
death  were  occasioned  by  a  wound  received  in  defend- 
ing his  master  ?  Should  AVC  not  then  say  that  the  mas- 
ter had  only  fulfilled  a  sacred  obligation  of  duty  ?  Now, 
Mr.  Gladstone  himself  owns  that  "  nobody  can  think 
that  the  personality  of  the  state  is  more  stringent,  or 
entails  stronger  obligations,  than  that  of  the  individ- 
ual." How  then  stands  the  case  of  the  Indian  govern- 
ment? Here  is  a  poor  fellow,  enlisted  in  Clare  or 
Kerry,  sent  over  fifteen  thousand  miles  of  sea,  quar- 
tered in  a  depressing  and  pestilential  climate.  He  fighta 
for  the  government ;  he  conquers  for  it ;  he  is  wounded ; 
he  is  laid  on  his  pallet,  withering  away  with  fever, 
under  that  terrible  sun,  without  a  friend  near  him. 
He  pines  for  the  consolations  of  that  religion  which, 
neglected  perhaps  in  the  season  of  health  and  vigour, 


182  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

now  comes  back  to  his  mind,  associated  with  all  the 
overpowering  recollections  of  his  earlier  clays,  and  of 
the  home  which  he  is  never  to  see  again.  And  because 
the  state  for  which  he  dies  sends  a  priest  of  his  own 
faith  to  stand  at  his  bedside,  and  to  tell  him,  in  language 
which  at  once  commands  his  love  and  confidence,  of 
the  common  Father,  of  the  common  Redeemer,  of  the 
common  hope  of  immortality,  because  the  state  for 
which  he  dies  does  not  abandon  him  in  his  last  moments 
to  the  care  of  heathen  attendants,  or  employ  a  chaplain 
of  a  different  creed  to  vex  his  departing  spirit  with  a 
controversy  about  the  Council  of  Trent,  Mr.  Glad- 
stone finds  that  India  presents  "  a  melancholy  picture," 
and  that  there  is  "a  large  allowance  of  false  principle" 
in  the  system  pursued  there.  Most  earnestly  do  we 
hope  that  our  remarks  may  induce  Mr.  Gladstone  to 
reconsider  this  part  of  his  work,  and  may  prevent  him 
from  expressing  in  that  high  assembly,  in  which  he 
must  always  be  heard  with  attention,  opinions  so  un- 
worthy of  his  character. 

We  have  now  said  almost  all  that  we  think  it  neces- 
sary to  say  respecting  Mr.  Gladstone's  theory.  And 
perhaps  it  would  be  safest  for  us  to  stop  here.  It  is 
much  easier  to  pull  down  than  to  build  up.  Yet,  that 
we  may  give  Mr.  Gladstone  his  revenge,  we  will  state 
precisely  our  own  views  respecting  the  alliance  of 
Church  and  State. 

We  set  out  in  company  with  Warburton,  and  re- 
main with  him  pretty  sociably  till  we  come  to  his  con- 
tract ;  a  contract  which  Mr.  Gladstone  very  properly 
designates  as  a  fiction.  We  consider  the  primary  end 
of  government  as  a  purely  temporal  end,  the  protection 
of  the  persons  and  property  of  men. 

We  think  that  government,  like  every  oth^r  contriv 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.     '        183 

ance  of  human  wisdom,  from  the  highest  to  the  3west, 
is  likely  to  answer  its  main  end  best  when  it  is  con- 
structed with  a  single  view  to  that  end.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, who  loves  Plato,  will  not  quarrel  with  us  for 
illustrating  our  proposition,  after  Plato's  fashion,  from 
the  most  familiar  objects.  Take  cutlery,  for  example 
A  blade  which  is  designed  both  to  shave  and  to  carve, 
will  certainly  not  shave  so  well  as  a  razor,  or  carve  so 
well  as  a  carving-knife.  An  academy  of  painting, 
which  should  also  be  a  bank,  would,  in  all  probability, 
exhibit  very  bad  pictures  and  discount  very  bad  bills. 
A  gas  company,  which  should  also  be  an  infant  school 
society,  would,  we  apprehend,  light  the  streets  ill,  and 
teach  the  children  ill.  On  this  principle,  we  think  that 
government  should  be-  organized  solely  with  a  view  to 
its  main  end ;  and  that  no  part  of  its  efficiency  for  that 
end  should  be  sacrificed,  in  order  to  promote  any  other 
end  however  excellent. 

But  does  it  follow  from  thence  that  governments 
ought  never  to  pursue  any  end,  other  than  their  main 
end  ?  In  no  wise.  Though  it  is  desirable  that  every 
institution  should  have  a  main  end,  and  should  be  so 
formed  as  to  be  in  the  Jiighest  degree  efficient  for  that 
main  end ;  yet  if,  without  any  sacrifice  of  its  efficiency 
for  that  end,  it  can  pursue  any  other  good  end,  it  ought 
to  do  so.  Thus,  the  end  for  which  a  hospital  is  built 
is  the  relief  of  the  sick,  not  the  beautifying  of  the  street. 
To  sacrifice  the  health  of  the  sick  to  splendour  of  archi- 
tectural effect,  to  place  the  building  in  a  bad  air  only 
that  it  may  present  a  more  commanding  front  to  a 
great  public  place,  to  make  the  wards  hotter  or  cooler 
than  they  ought  to  be,  in  order  that  the  columns  and 
windows  of  the  exterior  may  please  the  passers-by, 
would  be  monstrous.  But  if,  without  any  sacrifice  of 


184  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

the  chief  object,  the  hospital  can  be  made  an  ornament 
to  the  metropolis,  it  would  be  absurd  not  to  make 
it  so. 

In  the  same  manner,  if  a  government  can,  without 
any  sacrifice  of  its  main  end,  promote  any  other  good 
work,  it  ought  to  do  so.  The  encouragement  of  the 
fine  arts,  for  example,  is  by  no  means  the  main  end  of 
government ;  and  it  would  be  absurd,  in  constituting  a 
government,  to  bestow  a  thought  on  the  question, 
whether  it  would  be  a  government  likely  to  train  Ila- 
phaels  and  Domenichinos.  But  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  it  is  improper  for  a  government  to  form  a  national 
gallery  of  pictures.  The  same  may  be  said  of  patron- 
age bestowed  on  learned  men,  of  the  publication  of 
archives,  of  the  collecting  of  libraries,  menageries, 
plants,  fossils,  antiques,  of  journeys  and  voyages  for 
purposes  of  geographical  discovery  or  astronomical  ol> 
servation.  It  is  not  for  these  ends  that  government  is 
constituted.  But  it  may  well  happen  that  a  govern- 
ment may  have  at  its  command  resources  which  will 
enable  it,  without  any  injury  to  its  main  end,  to  pursue 
these  collateral  ends  far  more  effectually  than  any  indi- 
vidual or  any  voluntary  association  could  do.  If  so, 
government  ought  to  pursue  these  collateral  ends. 

It  is  still  more  evidently  the  duty  of  government  to 
promote,  always  in  subordination  to  its  main  end, 
every  thing  which  is  useful  as  a  means  for  the  attaining 
S)£that  main  end.  .  The  improvement  of  steam  naviga- 
tion, for  example,  is  by  no  means  a  primary  object  of 
government.  But  as  steam  vessels  are  useful  for  the 
purpose  of  national  defence,  and  for  the  purpose  of 
facilitating  intercourse  between  distant  provinces,  and 
of  thereby  consolidating  the  force  of  the  empire,  it  may 
be  the  bounden  duty  of  government  to  fiticourage 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND  STATE.  185 

ingenious  men  to  perfect  an  invention  which  so  directly 
tends  to  make  the  state  more  efficient  for  its  great 
primary  end. 

Now  on  both  these  grounds,  the  instruction  of  the 
people  may  with  propriety  engage  the  care  of  the 
government.  That  the  people  should  be  well  educated, 
is  in  itself  a  good  thing ;  and  the  state  ought  therefore 
to  promote  this  object,  if  it  can  do  so  without  any 
sacrifice  of  its  primary  object.  The  education  of  the 
people,  conducted  on  those  principles  of  morality  which 
are  common  to  all  the  forms  of  Christianity,  is  highly 
valuable  as  a  means  of  promoting  the  main  object  for 
which  government  exists,  and  is  on  this  ground  well 
deserving  the  attention  of  rulers.  We  will  not  at 
present  go  into  the  general  question  of  education ;  but 
will  confine  our  remarks  to  the  subject  which  is  more 
immediately  before  us,  namely,  the  religious  instruction 
of  the  people. 

We  may  illustrate  our  view  of  the  policy  which 
governments  ought  to  pursue  'with  respect  to  religious 
instruction,  by  recurring  to  the  analogy  of  a  hospital. 
Religious  instruction  is  not  the  main  end  for  which  a 
hospital  is  built ;  and  to  introduce  into  a  hospital  any 
regulations  prejudicial  to  the  health  of  the  patients,  on 
the  plea  of  promoting  their  spiritual  improvement,  to 
send  a  ranting  preacher  to  a  man  who  has  just  been 
ordered  by  the  physician  to  lie  quiet  and  try  to  get  a 
little  sleep,  to  impose  a  strict  observance  of  Lent  on  a 
convalescent  who  has  been  advised  to  eat  heartily  of 
nourishing  food,  to  direct,  as  the  bigoted  Pius  the 
Fifth  actually  did,  that  no  medical  assistance  should  be 
given  to  any  person  who  declined  spiritual  attendance, 
would  be  the  most  extravagant  folly.  Yet  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  it  would  not  be  right  to  have  a 


186  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

chaplain  to  attend  the  sick,  and  to  pay  such  a  chaplah 
out  of  the  hospital  funds.  Whether  it  will  be  prope 
to  have  such  a  chaplain  at  all,  and  of  what  religiou: 
persuasion  such  a  chaplain  ought  to  be,  must  depend 
on  circumstances.  There  may  be  a  town  in  which  it 
would  be  impossible  to  set  up  a  good  hospital  without 
the  help  of  people  of  different  opinions :  and  religious 
parties  may  run  so  high  that,  though  people  of  different 
opinions  are  willing  to  contribute  for  the  relief  of  the 
sick,  they  will  not  concur  in  the  choice  of  any  one 
chaplain.  The  high  Churchmen  insist  that,  if  there  is 
a  paid  chaplain,  he  shall  be  a  high  Churchman.  The 
Evangelicals  stickle  for  an  Evangelical.  Here  it  would 

o  o 

evidently  be  absurd  and  cruel  to  let  an  useful  and 
humane  design,  about  which  all  are  agreed,  fall  to  the 
ground,  because  all  cannot  agree  about  something  else. 
The  governors  must  either  appoint  two  chaplains,  and 
pay  them  both  ;  or  they  must  appoint  none  ;  and  every 
one  of  them  must,  in  his  individual  capacity,  do  what 
he  can  for  the  purpose  of  providing  the  sick  with  such 
religious  instruction  and  consolation  as  will,  in  his 
opinion,  be  most  useful  to  them. 

We  should  say  the  same  of  government.  Govern- 
ment is  not  an  institution  for  the  propagation  of  relig- 
ion, any  more  than  St.  George's  Hospital  is  an  in- 
stitution for  the  -propagation  of  religion  :  and  the  most 
absurd  and  pernicious  consequences  would  follow,  if 
Government  should  pursue,  as  its  primary  end,  that 
which  can  never  be  more  than  its  secondary  end, 
though  intrinsically  more  important  than  its  primary 
end.  But  a  government  which  considers  the  religious 

O 

instruction  of  the  people  as  a  secondary  end,  and  fol- 
lows out  that  principle  faithfully,  will,  we  think,  h* 
likely  to  do  much  good  and  little  harm. 


GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND  STATE.  187 

Wo  will  rapidly  run  over  some  of  the  consequences 
to  which  this  principle  leads,  and  point  out  how  it 
solves  some  problems  which,  on  Mr.  Gladstone's  hypo- 
thesis, admit  of  no  satisfactory  solution. 

All  persecution  directed  against  the  persons  or  prop- 
erty of  men  is,  on  our  principle,  obviously  indefensible. 
For,  the  protection  of  the  persons  and  property  of 
men  being  the  primary  end  of  government,  and  relig- 
"ous  instruction  only  a  secondary  end,  to  secure  the 
people  from  heresy  by  making  their  lives,  their  limbs, 
or  their  estates  insecure,  would  be  to  sacrifice  the 
primary  end  to  the  secondary  end.  It  would  be  as 
absurd  as  it  would  be  in  the  governors  of  a  hospital  to 
direct  that  the  wounds  of  all  Arian  and  Socinian  pa- 
tients should  be  dressed  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them 
fester. 

Again,  on  our  principles,  all  civil  disabilities  on  ac- 
count of  religious  opinions  are  indefensible.  For  all 
such  disabilities  make  government  less  efficient  for  its 
main  end :  they  limit  its  choice  of  able  men  for  the 
administration  and  defence  of  the  state ;  they  alienate 
from  it  the  hearts  of  the  sufferers ;  they  deprive  it  of 
a  part  of  its  effective  strength  in  all  contests  with 
foreign  nations.  Such  a  course  is  as  absurd  as  it 
would  be  in  the  governors  of  a  hospital  to  reject  an 
able  surgeon  because  he  is  an  Universal  Restitutionist, 
and  to  send  a  bungler  to  operate  because  he  is  perfectly 
orthodox. 

Again,  on  our  principles,  no  government  ought  to 
press  on  the  people  religious  instruction,  however 
eound,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  excite  among  them  dis- 
contents dangerous  to  public  order.  For  here  again 
government  would  sacrifice  its  primary  end  to  an  end 
intrinsically  indeed  of  the  highest  importance,  but  still 


188  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE, 

only  a  secondary  end  of  government,  as  government. 
This  rule  at  once  disposes  of  the  difficulty  about  India, 
a  difficulty  of  which  Mr.  Gladstone  can  get  rid  only  by 
putting  in  an  imaginary  discharge  in  order  to  set  aside 
an  imaginary  obligation.  There  is  assuredly  no  country 
where  it  is  more  desirable  that  Christianity  should  be 
propagated.  But  there  is  no  country  in  which  the 
government  is  so  completely  disqualified  for  the  task. 
By  using  our  power  in  order  to  make  proselytes,  we 
should  produce  the  dissolution  of  society,  and  bring 
utter  ruin  on  all  those  interests  for  the  protection  of 
which  government  exists.  Here  the  secondary  end  is, 
at  present,  inconsistent  with  the  primary  end,  and  must 
therefore  be  abandoned.  Christian  instruction  given 
by  individuals  and  voluntary  societies  may  do  much 
good.  Given  by  the  government  it  would  do  unmixed 
harm.  At  the  same  time,  we  quite  agree  with  Mr. 
Gladstone  in  thinking  that  the  English  authorities  in 
India  ought  not  to  participate  in  any  idolatrous  rite ; 
and  indeed  we  are  fully  satisfied  that  all  such  participa- 
tion is  not  only  unchristian,  but  also  unwise  and  most 
undioriified. 

O 

Supposing  the  circumstances  of  a  country  to  be 
such,  that  the  government  may  with  propriety,  on  ouf 
principles,  give  religious  instruction  to  a  people ;  wt 
have  next  to  inquire,  what  religion  shall  be  taught. 
Bishop  Warburton  answers,  the  religion  of  the  ma- 
jority. And  we  so  far  agree  with  him,  that  we  can 
scarcely  conceive  any  circumstances  in  which  it  vrould 
be  proper  to  establish,  as  the  one  exclusive  religion  of 
the  state,  the  religion  of  the  minority.  Such  a  prefer- 
ence could  hardly  be  given  without  exciting  most 
serious  discontent,  and  endangering  those  interests,  the 
protection  of  which  is  the  first  object  of  government. 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  189 

But  wo  never  can  admit  that  a  ruler  can  be  justified 
in  helping  to  spread  a  system  of  opinions  solely  because 
that  system  is  pleasing  to  the  majority.  On  the  other 
hand,  we  cannot  agree  with  Mr.  Gladstone,  who  would 
of  course  ans'wer  that  the  only  religion  which  a  ruler 
ought  to  propagate  is  the  religion  of  his  own  conscience. 
In  truth,  this  is  an  impossibility.  And  as  we  have 
shown,  Mr.  Gladstone  himself,  whenever  he  supports 
a  grant  of  money  to  the  Church  of  England,  is  really 
assisting  to  propagate,  not  the  precise  religion  of  his 
own  conscience,  but  some  one  or  more,  he  knows  not 
how  many  or  which,  of  the  innumerable  religions  which 
lie  between  the  confines  of  Pelagianism  and  those  of 
Antinomianism,  and  between  the  confines  of  Popery 
and  those  of  Presbyterianism.  In  our  opinion,  that  re- 
ligious instruction  which  the  ruler  ought,  in  his  public 
capacity,  to  patronise,  is  the  instruction  from  which  he, 
in  his  conscience,  believes  that  the  people  will  learn 
most  good  with  the  smallest  mixture  of  evil.  And 
thus  it  is  not  necessarily  his  own  religion  that  he  will 
select.  He  will,  of  course,  believe  that  his  own  relig- 
ion is  unmixedly  good.  But  the  question  which  he  has 
to  consider  is,  not  how  much  good  his  religion  contains, 
but  how  much  good  the  people  will  learn,  if  instruction 
is  given  them  in  that  religion.  He  may  prefer  the  doc- 
trines and  government  of  the  Church  of  England  to 
those  of  the  Church  of  Scotland.  But  if  he  know* 
that  a  Scotch  congregation  will  listen  with  deep  atten- 
tion and  respect  while  an  Erskine  or  a  Chalmers  set* 
before  them  the  fundamental  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
and  that  a  glimpse  of  a  surplice  or  a  single  line  of  a  lit- 
urgy would  be  the  signal  for  hooting  and  riot,  and  would 
probably  bring  stools  and  brick-bats  about  the  ears  of 
the  minister,  he  acts  wisely  if  he  conveys  religious 


190  GLADSTONE  ON   CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

knowledge  to  the  Scotch  rather  by  means  of  ititt  im- 
perfect Church,  as  he  may  think  it,  from  which  they 
will  leani  much,  than  by  means  of  that  perfect  Church 
from  which  they  will  learn  nothing.  The  only  end  of 
teaching  is,  that  men  may  learn  ;  and  it -is  idle  to  talk 
of  the  duty  of  teaching  truth  in  ways  wliich  only  cause 
men  to  cling  more  firmly  to.falsehood. 

On  these  principles  we  conceive  that  a  statesman, 
who  might  be  far  indeed  from  regarding  the  Church  of 
England  with  the  reverence  wliich  Mr.  Gladstone  feels 
for  her,  might  yet  firmly  oppose  all  attempts  to  destroy 
her.  Such  a  statesman  may  be  too  well  acquainted 
with  her  origin  to  look  upon  her  with  superstitious  awe. 
He  may  know  that  she  sprang  from  a  compromise  hud- 
dled up  between  the  eager  zeal  of  reformers  and  the 
selfishness  of  greedy,  ambitious,  and  time-serving  poli- 
ticians. .  He  may  find  in  every  page  of  her  annals  am- 
ple cause  for  censure.  He  may  feel  that  he  could  not, 
with  ease  to  his  conscience,  subscribe  all  her  articles. 
He  may  regret  that  all  the  attempts  which  have  been 
made  to  open  her  gates  to  large  classes  of  non-comform- 
ists  should  have  failed.  Her  episcopal  polity  he  may  con- 
sider as  of  purely  human  institution.  He  cannot  de- 
fend her  on  the  ground  that  she  possesses  the  apostolical 
succession ;  for  he  does  not  know  whether  that  succes- 
sion may  not  be  altogether  a  fable.  He  cannot  defend 
her  on  the  ground  of  her  unity  ;  for  he  knows  that  her 
frontier  sects  are  much  more  remote  from  each  other, 
than  one  frontier  is  from  the  Church  of.  .Home,  or  the 
•>ther  from  the  Church  of  Geneva.  But  he  may  think 
that  she  teaches  more  truth  with  less  alloy  of  error  than 
would  be  taught  by  those  who,  if  she  were  swept  away, 
would  occupy  the  vacant  space.  He  may  think  that 
the  effect  produced  by  her  beautiful  serves  cru}  W  W 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHUKCH  AND  STATE.  191 

pulpits  on  the  national  mind,  is,  on  the  whole,  highly 
beneficial.  He  may  think  that  her  civilising  influence 
is  usefully  felt  in  remote  districts.  He  may  think  that, 
if  she  were  destroyed,  a  large  portion  of  those  who  no~w 
compose  her  congregations  would  neglect  all  religious 
duties,  and  that  a  still  larger  portion  would  fall  under 
the  influence  of  spiritual  mountebanks,  hungry  for  gain, 
or  drunk  with  fanaticism.  While  he  would  with  pleas- 
ure admit  that  all  the  qualities  of  Christian  pastors  ars 
to  be  found  in  large  measure  within  the  existing  body 
of  Dissenting  ministers,  he  would  perhaps  be  inclined 
to  think  that  the  standard  of  intellectual  and  moral 
character  among  that  exemplary  class  of  men  may  have 
been  raised  to  its  present  high  point  and  maintained 
there  by  the  indirect  influence  of  the  Establishment. 
And  he  may  be  by  no  means  satisfied  that,  if  the 
Church  were  at  once  swept  away,  the  place  of  our  Sum- 
ners  and  Whateleys  would  be  supplied  by  Doddridges 
and  Halls.  He  may  think  that  the  advantages  which 
we  have  described  are  obtained,  or  might,  if  the  exist- 
ing system  were  slightly  modified,  be  obtained,  without 
any  sacrifice  of  the  paramount  objects  which  all  gov- 
ernments ought  to  have  chiefly  in  view.  Nay,  he  may 
be  of  opinion  that  an  institution,  so  deeply  fixed  in  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  millions,  could  not  be  subverted 
without  loosening  and  shaking  all  the  foundations  of 
civil  society.  With  at  least  equal  ease  he  would  find 
reasons  for  supporting  the  Church  of  Scotland.  Nor 
would  lie  be  under  the  necessity  of  resorting  to  any 
contract  to  justify  the  connection  of  two  religious  estab- 
lishments with  one  government.  He  would  think 
scruples  on  that  head  frivolous  in  any  person  who  is 
zealous  for  a  Church,  of  which  both  Dr.  Herbert  Marsh 
and  Dr.  Daniel  Wilson  have  been  bishops.  Indeed  he 


192  GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

Would  gladly  follow  out  his  principles  much  further. 
He  would  have  been  willing  to  vote  in  1825  for  Lord 
Francis  Egerton's  resolution,  that  it  is  expedient  to  give 
a  public  maintenance  to  the  Catholic  clergy  of  Ireland: 
and  he  would  deeply  regret  that  no  such  measure  was 
adopted  in  1829. 

In  this  way,  we  conceive,  a  statesman  might  on  our 
principles  satisfy  himself  that  it  would  be  in  the  high- 
est degree  inexpedient  to  abolish  the  Church,  either  of 
England  or  of  Scotland. 

But  if  there  were,  in  any  part  of  the  world,  a  na* 
tional  church  regarded  as  heretical  by  four-fifths  of  the 
nation  committed  to  its  care,  a  church  established  and 
maintained  by  the  sword,  a  church  producing  twice 
as  many  riots  as  conversions,  a  church  which,  though 
possessing  great  wealth  and  power,  and  though  long 
backed  by  persecuting  laws,  had,  in  the  course  of  many 
generations,  been  found  unable  to  propagate  its  doc- 
trines, and  barely  able  to  maintain  its  ground,  a  church 
so  odious,  that  fraud  and  violence,  when  used  against 
its  clear  rights  of  property,  were  generally  regarded  as 
fair  play,  a  church,  whose  ministers  were  preaching  to 
iesolate  walls,  and  with  difficulty  obtaining  their  law- 
ful subsistence  by  the  help  of  bayonets,  such  a  church, 
on  our  principles,  could  hot,  we  must  own,  be  de- 
fended. We  should  say  that  the  state  which  allied 
itself  with  such  a  church  postponed  the  primary  end  of 
government  to  the  secondary :  and  that  the  conse- 
quences had  been  such  as  any  sagacious  observer  would 
have  predicted.  Neither  the  primary  nor  the  second- 
ary end  is  attained.  The  temporal  and  spiritral  inter- 
ests of  the  people  suffer  alike.  The  minds  of  men, 
instead  of  being  drawn  to  the  church,  are  alienated 
from  the  state.  The  magistrate,  after  sacrificing  order, 


GLADSTONE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  193 

peace,  union,  all  the  interests  winch  it  is  his  first  duty 
to  protect,  for  the  purpose  of  promoting  pure  religion, 
is  forced,  after  the  experience  of  centuries,  to  admit 
that  he  has  really  been  promoting  error.  The  sounder 
the  doctrines  of  such  a  church,  the  more  absurd  and 
noxious  the  superstition  by  which  those  doctrines  arc 
opposed,  the  stronger  are  the  arguments  against  the 
policy  which  has  deprived  a  good  cause  of  its  natural 
advantages.  Those  who  preach  to  rulers  the  duty  of 
employing  power  to  propagate  truth  would  do  well  to 
remember  that  falsehood,  though  no  match  for  truth 
alone,  has  often  been  found  more  than  a  match  for 
truth  and  power  together. 

A  statesman,  judging  on  our  principles,  would  pro- 
nounce without  hesitation  that  a  church,  such  as  we 
have  last  described,  never  ought  to  have  been  set  up. 
Further  than  this  we  will  not  venture  to  speak  for  him. 
He  would  doubtless  remember  that  the  world  is  full 
of  institutions  which,  though  they  never  ought  to  have 
been  set  up,  yet,  having  been  set  up,  ought  not  to  be 
rudely  pulled  down  ;  and  that  it  is  often  wise  in  prac- 
tice to  be  content  with  the  mitigation  of  an  abuse 
which,  looking  at  it  in  the  abstract,  we  might  feel  im- 
patient to  destroy. 

We  have  done  ;  and  nothing  remains  but  that  wo 
part  from  Mr.  Gladstone  with  the  courtesy  of  an- 
tagonists who  bear  no  malice.  We  dissent  from  his 
opinions,  but  we  admire  his  talents  ;  we  respect  his 
integrity  and  benevolence  ;  and  we  hope  that  he  will 
lot  suffer  political  avocations  so  entirely  to  engross 
him,  as  to  leave  him  no  leisure  for  literature  and 
philosophy. 

VOL.  IV.  9 


LORD   CLIVE.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  January,  1840.) 

WE  have  always  thought  it  strange  that,  while  the 
history  of  the  Spanish  empire  in  America  is  familiarly 
known  to  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  the  great  actions 
of  our  countrymen  in  the  East  should,  even  among 
ourselves,  excite  little  interest.  Every  schoolboy 
knows  who  imprisoned  Montezuma,  and  who  strangled 
Atahualpa.  But  we  doubt  whether  one  in  ten,  even 
among  English  gentlemen  of  highly  cultivated  minds, 
can  tell  who  won  the  battle  of  Buxar,  who  perpetrated 
the  massacre  of  Patna,  whether  Sujah  Dowlah  ruled 
in  Oude  or  in  Travancore,  or  whether  Holkar  was  a 
Hindoo  or  a  Mussulman.  Yet  the  victories  of  Cortes 
were  gained  over  savages  who  had  no  letters,  who 
were  ignorant  of  the  use  of  metals,  who  had  not 
broken  in  a  single  animal  to  labour,  who  wielded  no 
better  weapons  than  those  which  could  be  made  out 
of  sticks,  flints,  and  fish-bones,  who  regarded  a  horse- 
soldier  as  a  monster,  half  man  and  half  beast,  who 
took  a  harquebusier  for  a  sorcerer,  able  to  scatter  the 
thunder  and  lightning  of  the  skies.  The  people  of 
India,  when  we  subdued  them,  were  ten  times  as 
numerous  as  the  Americans  whom  the  Spaniards  van 

1  The  Life  of  Robert  Lord  Clive;  collected  from  the  Family  Papert 
communicated  by  the  Earl  of  Fowls.  By  MAJOR-GENERAL  SIR  JOH» 
MALCOLM,  K.  C.  B.  3  vols.  8vo.  London:  1836. 


LORD  CLIVE.  196 

quished,  and  were  at  the  same  time  quite  as  highly 
civilised  as  the  victorious  Spaniards.  They  had  reared 
cities  larger  and  fairer  than  Saragossa  or  Toledo,  and 
buildings  more  beautiful  and  costly  than  the  cathedral 
of  Seville.  They  could  show  bankers  richer  than  the 
richest  firms  of  Barcelona  or  Cadiz,  viceroys  whose 
splendour  far  surpassed  that  of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic, 
myriads  of  cavalry  and  long  trains  of  artillery  which 
would  have  astonished  the  Great  Captain.  It  might 
have  been  expected,  that  every  Englishman  who  takes 
any  interest  in  any  part  of  history  would  be  curious  tc 
know  how  a  handful  of  his  countrymen,  separated  from 
then*  home  by  an  immense  ocean,  subjugated,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  one  of  the  greatest  empires  in 
the  world.  Yet,  unless  we  greatly  err,  this  subject 
is,  to  most  readers,  not  only  insipid,  but  positively 
distasteful. 

Perhaps  the  fault  lies  partly  with  the  historians. 
Mr.  Mill's  book,  though  it  has  undoubtedly  great  and 
rare  merit,  is  not  sufficiently  animated  and  picturesque 
to  attract  those  who  read  for  amusement.  Orme,  in- 
ferior to  no  English  historian  in  style  and  power  of 
painting,  is  minute  even  to  tediousness.  In  one  volume 
he  allots,  on  an  average,  a  closely  printed  quarto  page 
to  the  events  of  every  forty-eight  hours.  The  conse- 
quence is,  that  his  narrative,  though  one  of  the  most 
authentic  and  one  of  the  most  finely  written  in  our  lan- 
guage, has  never  been  very  popular,  and  is  now  scarcely 
ever  read. 

We  fear  that  the  volumes  before  us  will  not  ir  uch 
attract  those  readers  whom  Orme  and  Mill  have  re- 
pelled. The  materials  placed  at  the  disposal  of  Sir  John 
Malcolm  by  the  late  Lord  Powis  were  indeed  of  great 
value.  But  we  cannot  say  that  they  have  been  very 


190  LORD  CLIVE. 

skilfully  worked  up.  It  would,  however,  be  unjust  to 
criticise  with  severity  a  work  which,  if  the  author  had 
lived  to  complete  and  revise  it,  would  probably  have 
been  improved  by  condensation  and  by  a  better  arrange 
ment.  We  are  the  more  disposed  to  perform  the  pleas- 
ing duty  of  expressing  our  gratitude  to  the  noble  family 
to  which  the  public  owes  so  much  useful  and  curious 
information. 

The  effect  of  the  book,  even  when  we  make  the 
largest  allowance  for  the  partiality  of  those  who  have 
furnished  suid  of  those  who  have  digested  the  materials, 
is,  on  the  whole,  greatly  to  raise  the  character  of  Lord. 
Clive.  We  are  far  indeed  from  sympathizing  with  Sir 
John  Malcolm,  whose  love  passes  the  love  of  biogra- 
phers, and  who  can  see  nothing  but  wisdom  and  justice 
in  the  actions  of  his  idol.  But  we  are  at  least  equally 
far  from  concurring  in  the  severe  judgment  of  Mr.  Mill, 
who  seems  to  us  to  show  less  discrimination  in  his  ac- 
count of  Clive  than  in  any  other  part  of  his  valuable 
work.  Clive,  like  most  men  who  are  born  with  strong 
passions  and  tried  by  strong  temptations,  committed 
great  faults.  But  every  person  who  takes  a  fair  and 
enlightened  view  of  his  whole  career  must  admit  that 
our  island,  so  fertile  in  heroes  and  statesmen,  has 
>carcely  ever  produced  a  man  more  truly  great  either  in 
jtrms  or  in  council. 

The  Clives  had  been  settled,  ever  since  the  twelfth 
v'entury,  on  an  estate  of  no  great  value,  near  Market- 
Drayton,  in  Shropshire.  In  the  reign  of  George  the 
First  this  moderate  but  ancient  inheritance  was  pos- 
sessed by  Mr.  Richard  Clive,  who  seems  to  have  been 
•A  plain  man  of  no  great  tact  or  capacity.  He  had  been 
bred  to  the  law,  and  divided  his  tune  between  profes- 
sional business  and  the  avocations  of  a  small  proprietor, 


LORD  CLIVE.  197 

He  married  a  lady  from  Manchester,  of  the  name  of 
Gaskill,  and  became  the  father  of  a  very  numerous 
family.  His  eldest  son,  Robert,  the  founder  of  the 
British  empire  in  India,  was  bom  at  the  old  seat  of  his 
ancestors  on  the  tAventy-ninth  of  September,  1725. 

Some  lineaments  of  the  character  of  the  man  were 
early  discerned  in  the  child.  There  remain  letters 
written  by  his  relations  when  he  was  in  his  seventh 
year  ;  and  from  these  letters  it  appears  that,  even  at 
that  early  age,  his  strong  will  and  his  fiery  passions, 
sustained*  by  a  constitutional  intrepidity  which  some- 
times seemed  hardly  compatible  with  soundness  of 
mind,  had  begun  to  cause  great  uneasiness  to  liis 
family.  "  Fighting,"  says  one  of  his  uncles,  "  to 
which  he  is  out  of  measure  addicted,  gives  his  temper 
such  a  fierceness  and  imperiousness,  that  he  flies  out  on 
every  trilling  occasion."  The  old  people  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood still  remember  to  have  heard  from  their 
parents  how  Bob  Clive  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  lofty 
steeple  of  Market-Drayton,  and  with  what  terror  the 
inhabitants  saw  him  seated  on  a  stone  spout  near  the 
summit.  They  also  relate  how  he  formed  all  the  idle 
lads  of  the  town  into  a  kind  of  predatory  army,  and 
compelled  the  shopkeepers  to  submit  to  a  tribute  of 
Apples  and  halfpence,  in  consideration  of  which  he 
guaranteed  the  security  of  their  windows.  He  was 
sent  from  school  to  school,  making  very  little  progress 
ai  his  learning,  and  gaining  for  himself  everywhere  the 
Character  of  an  exceedingly  naughty  boy.  One  of  his 
masters,  it  is  said,  was  sagacious  enough  to  prophesy 
that  the  idle  lad  would  make  a  great  figure  in  the 
world.  But  the  general  opinion  seems  to  have  been 
that  poor  Robert  was  a  dunce,  if  not  a  reprobate.  His 
family  expected  nothing  good  from  such  slender  parts 


198  LORD  CLIVE. 

and  such  a  headstrong  temper.  It  is  not  strange,  there* 
fore,  that  they  gladly  accepted  for  him,  when  he  was  in 
his  eighteenth  year,  a  writership  in  the  service  of  the 
East  India  Company,  and  shipped  him  off  to  make  a 
fortune  or  to  die  of  a  fever  at  Madras. 

Far  different  were  the  prospects  of  dive  from  those 
of  the  youths  whom  the  East  India  College  now  an- 
nually sends  to  the  Presidencies  of  our  Asiatic  empire. 
The  Company  was  then  purely  a  trading  corporation. 
Its  territory  consisted  of  a  few  square  miles,  for  which 
rent  was  paid  to  the  native  governments.  Its  troops 
were  scarcely  numerous  enough  to  man  the  batteries 
of  three  or  four  ill-constructed  forts,  which  had  been 
erected  for  the  protection  of  the  warehouses.  The 
natives,  who  composed  a  considerable  part  of  these 
little  garrisons,  had  not  yet  been  trained  in  the  disci- 
pline of  Europe,  and  were  armed,  some  with  swords 
and  shields,  some  with  bows  and  arrows.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  servant  of  the  Company  was  not,  as  now, 
to  conduct  the  judicial,  financial,  and  diplomatic  busi- 
ness of  a  great  country,  but  to  take  stock,  to  make 
advances  to  weavers,  to  ship  cargoes,  and  above  all,  to 
keep  an  eye  on  private  traders  who  dared  to  infringe 
the  monopoly.  The  younger  clerks  were  so  miserably 
paid  that  they  could  scarcely  subsist  without  incurring 
debt ;  the  elder  enriched  themselves  by  trading  on  their 
own  account ;  and  those  who  lived  to  rise  to  the  top  of 
the  service  often  accumulated  considerable  fortunes. 

Madras,  to  which  Clive  had  been  appointed,  was,  at 
this  time,  perhaps,  the  first  in  importance  of  the  Com- 
pany's settlements.  In  the  preceding  century  Fort  St. 
George  had  risen  on  a  barren  spot  beaten  by  a  raging 
surf;  and  in  the  neighbourhood  a  town,  inhabited  by 
many  thousands  of  natives,  had  sprung  up,  as  towns 


LCKD  OLIVE.  199 

spring  up  in  the  East,  with  the  rapidity  of  the  prophet's 
gourd.  There  were  already  in  the  suburbs  many  white 
villas,  each  surrounded  by  its  garden,  whither  the 
wealthy  agents  of  the  Company  retired,  after  the  la- 
bours of  the  desk  and  the  warehouse,  to  enjoy  the  cool 
breeze  which  springs  up  at  sunset  from  the  Bay  of  Ben- 
gal. The  habits  of  these  mercantile  grandees  appear 
to  have  been  more  profuse,  luxurious,  and  ostentatious, 
than  those  of  the  high  judicial  and  political  function- 
aries who  have  succeeded  them.  But  comfort  was  far 
less  understood.  Many  devices  which  now  mitigate 
the  heat  of  the  climate,  preserve  health,  and  prolong 
life,  were  unknown.  There  was  far  less  intercourse 
with  Europe  than  at  present.  The  voyage  by  the 
Cape,  which  in  our  time  has  often  been  performed 
within  three  months,  was  then  very  seldom  accom- 
plished in  six,  and  was  sometimes  protracted  to  more 
than  a  year.  Consequently,  the  Anglo-Indian  \vaa 
then  much  more  estranged  from  his  country,  much 
more  addicted  to  Oriental  usages,  and  much  less  fitted 
to  mix  in  society  after  his  return  to  Europe,  than  the 
Anglo-Indian  of  the  present  day. 

Within  the  fort  and  its  precinct,  the  English  exer- 
cised, by  permission  of  the  native  government,  an  ex- 
.ensive  authoiity,  such  as  every  great  Indian  land-owner 
exercised  within  his  own  domain.  But  they  had  never 
Ireamed  of  claiming  independent  power.  The  sur- 
rounding country  was  ruled  by  the  Nabob  of  the  Car- 
natic,  a  deputy  of  the  Viceroy  of  the  Deccan,  commonly 
called  the  Nizam,  wrho  was  himself  only  a  deputy  of 
the  mighty  prince  designated  by  our  ancestors  as  the 
Great  Mogul.  Those  names,  once  so  august  and  for 
midable,  still  remain.  There  is  still  a  Nabob  of  the 
Carnatic,  who  lives  on  a  pension  allowed  to  him  by  the 


200  LOED  CLIVE. 

English  out  of  the  revenues  of  the  province  which  his 
ancestors  ruled.  There  is  still  a  Nizam,  whose  capital 
is  overawed  by  a  British  cantonment,  and  to  whom  a 
British  resident  gives,  under  the  name  of  advice,  com- 
mands which  are  not  to  be  disputed.  There  is  still  a 
Mogul,  who  is  permitted  to  play  at  holding  courts  and 
receiving  petitions,  but  who  has  less  power  to  help  or 
hurt  than  the  youngest  civil  servant  of  the  Company. 

Olive's  voyage  was  unusually  tedious  even  for  that 
age.  The  ship  remained  some  months  at  the  Brazils, 
where  the  young  adventurer  picked  up  some  knowledge 
of  Portuguese,  and  spent  all  his  pocket-money.  He  did 
not  arrive  in  India  till  more  than  a  year  after  he  had 
left  England.  His  situation  at  Madras  was  most  pain- 
ful. His  funds  were  exhausted.  His  pay  was  small. 
He  had  contracted  debts.  He  was  wretchedly  lodged, 
no  small  calamity  in  a  climate  which  can  be  made  toler- 
able to  an  European  only  by  spacious  and  well  placed 
apartments.  He  had  been  furnished  with  letters  of 
recommendation  to  a  gentleman  who  might  have  as- 
sisted him ;  but  when  he  landed  at  Fort  St.  George  he 
found  that  this  gentleman  had  sailed  for  England.  The 
lad's  shy  and  haughty  disposition  withheld  him  from  in- 
troducing himself  to  strangers.  He  was  several  months 
m  India  before  he  became  acquainted  with  a  single  fam- 
ily. The  climate  affected  his  health  and  spirits.  His 
duties  were  of  a  kind  ill  suited  to  his  ardent  and  daring 
character.  He  pined  for  his  home,  and  in  his  letters  to 
his  relations  expressed  his  feelings  in  language  softer 
and  more  pensive  than  we  should  have  expected  either 
from  the  waywardness  of  his  boyhood,  cr  from  the 
inflexible  sternness  of  his  later  years.  "  I  have  not  en- 
joyed," says  he,  "  one  happy  day  since  I  left  my  native 
jountry;"  and  again,  "I  must  confess,  at  intervals, 


LORD  CLIVE.  201 

when  I  tliink  of  my  dear  native  England,  it  affects  mo 

in  a  very  particular  manner If  I  should  be  so 

far  blest  as  to  revisit  again  my  own  country,  but  more 
especially  Manchester,  the  centre  of  all  my  wishes,  all 
that  I  could  hope  or  desire  for  would  be  presented  be 
fore  me  in  one  view." 

One  solace  he  found  of  the  most  respectable  kind. 
The  Governor  possessed  a  good  library,  and  permitted 
Clive  to  have  access  to  it.  The  young  man  devoted 
much  of  his  leisure  to  reading,  and  acquired  at  this  timp 
almost  all  the  knowledge  of  books  that  he  ever  possessed 
As  a  boy  he  had  been  too  idle,  as  a  man  he  soon  became 
too  busy,  for  literary  pursuits. 

But  neither  climate  nor  poverty,  neither  study  nor 
the  sorrows  of  a  home-sick  exile,  could  tame  the  des- 
perate audacity  of  his  spirit.  He  behaved  to  his  official 
superiors  as  he  had  behaved  to  his  school-masters, 
and  was  several  times  in  danger  of  losing  his  situa- 
tion. Twice,  while  residing  in  the  Writers'  Buildings, 
he  attempted  to^  destroy  himself ;  and  twice  the  pisto 
which  he  snapped  at  his  own  head  failed  to  go  off. 
This  circumstance,  it  is  said,  affected  him  as  a  similar 
escape  affected  Wallenstein.  After  satisfying  himself 
that  the  pistol  was  really  well  loaded,  he  burst  forth  into 
an  exclamation  that  surely  he  was  reserved  for  some- 
thing great. 

About  this  time  an  event  which  at  first  seemed  likely 
to  destroy  all  his  hopes  in  life  suddenly  opened  before 
him  a  new  path  to  eminence.  Europe  had  been,  during 
some  years,  distracted  by  the  war  of  the  Austrian  suc- 
cession. George  the  Second  was  the  steady  ally  of 
Maria  Theresa.  The  house  of  Bourbon  took  the  oppo- 
site side.  Though  England  was  even  then  the  first  of 
maritime  powers,  she  was  not,  as  she  has  since  become, 


202  LORD  CLIVE. 

more  than  a  match  on  the  sea  for  all  the  nations  of  the 
world  together  ;  and  she  found  it  difficult  to  maintain  a 
contest  against  the  united  navies  of  France  and  Spain. 
In  the  eastern  seas  France  obtained  the  ascendency. 
Labourdonnais,  governor  of  Mauritius,  a  man  of  emi- 
nent talents  and  virtues,  conducted  an  expedition  to  the 
continent  of  India  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the  Brit- 
ish fleet,  landed,  assembled  an  army,  appeared  before 
Madras,  and  compelled  the  town  and  fort  to  capitulate. 
The  keys  were  delivered  up ;  the  French  colours  were 
displayed  on  Fort  St.  George ;  and  the  contents  of  the 
Company's  warehouses  were  seized  as  prize  of  war  Ly 
the  conquerors.  It  was  stipulated  by  the  capitulation 
that  the  English  inhabitants  should  be  prisoners  of  war 
on  parole,  and  that  the  town  should  remain  in  the  hands 
of  the  French  till  it  should  be  ransomed.  Labourdon- 
nais pledged  his  honour  that  only  a  moderate  ransom 
should  be  required. 

But  the  success  of  Labourdonnais  had  awakened  the 
jealousy  of  his  countryman,  Dupleix,  governor  of 
Pondicherry.  Dupleix,  moreover,  had  already  begun 
to  revolve  gigantic  schemes,  with  which  the  restoration 
of  Madras  to  the  English  was  by  no  means  compatible. 
He  declared  that  Labourdonnais  had  gone  beyond  his 
powers  ;  that  conquests  made  by  the  French  arms  on 
the  continent  of  India  were  at  the  disposal  of  the  gov- 
ernor of  Pondicherry  alone,  and  that  Madras  should  be 
rased  to  the  ground.  Labourdonnais  was  compelled  to 
yield.  The  anger  which  the  breach  of  the  capitulation 
excited  among  the  English,  was  increased  by  the  un- 
generous manner  in  which  Dupleix  treated  the  prin- 
cipal servants  of  the  Company.  The  Governor  and 
leveral  of  the  first  gentlemen  of  Fort  St.  George  were 
Carried  under  a  guard  to  Pondicherry,  and  conductec 


LORD  CLIVE.  203 

thioxigh  the  town  in  a  triumphal  procession,  under  the 
eyes  of  fifty  thousand  spectators.  It  was  with  reason 
thought  that  this  gross  violation  of  public  faith  absolved 
the  inhabitants  of  Madras  from  the  engagements  into 
which  they  had  entered  with  Labourdonnais.  Clive 
fled  from  the  town  by  night  in  the  disguise  of  a  inus- 
Bulman,  and  took  refuge  at  Fort  St.  David,  one  of  the 
small  English  settlements  subordinate  to  Madras. 

The  circumstances  in  which  he  was  now  placed  nat- 
urally led  him  to  adopt  a  profession  better  suited  to  his 
restles.}  and  intrepid  spirit  than  the  business  of  examin- 
ing packages  and  casting  accounts.  He  solicited  and 
obtained  an  ensign's  commission  in  the  service  of  the 
Company,  and  at  twenty-one  entered  on  his  military 
career.  His  personal  courage,  of  which  he  had,  while 
still  a  writer,  given  signal  proof  by  a  desperate  duel 
vith  a  military  bully,  who  was  the  terror  of  Fort 
St.  David,  speedily  made  him  conspicuous  even  among 
hundreds  of  brave  men.  He  soon  began  to  show  in 
his  new  calling  other  qualities  which  had  not  before 
been  discerned  in  him,  judgment,  sagacity,  deference  to 
legitimate  authority.  He  distinguished  himself  highly 
in  seveial  operations  against  the  French,  and  was  par- 
ticularly noticed  by  Major  Lawrence,  who  was  then 
considered  as  the  ablest  British  officer  in  India. 

Clive  had  been  only  a  few  months  in  the  army 
when  intelligence  arrived  that  peace  had  been  con- 
cluded between  Great  Britain  and  France.  Dupleix 
was  in  consequence  compelled  to  restore  Madras  to  the 
English  Company ;  and  the  young  ensign  was  at  lib- 
erty to  resume  his  former  business.  He  did  indeed 
return  for  a  short  time  to  his  desk.  He  again  quitted 
it  in  order  to  assist  Major  Lawrence  in  some  petty 

hostilities  with  the  natives,  and  then  again  returned  to 

-- 


204  LORD  CLTVE. 

it.  While  lie  was  thus  wavering  Let  ween  a  militar} 
and  a  commercial  life,  events  took  place  which  decided 
his  choice.  The  politics  of  India  assumed  a  new  aspect. 
There  was  peace  between  the  English  and  French 
Crowns ;  but  there  arose  between  the  English  and 
French  Companies  trading  to  the  East  a  war  most 
eventful  and  important,  a  war  in  which  the  prize  was 
nothing  less  than  the  magnificent  inheritance  of  the 
house  of  Tamerlane. 

The  empire  which  Baber  and  his  Moguls  reared  in 
the  sixteenth  century  was  long  one  of  the  most  exten- 
sive and  splendid  in  the  world.  In  no  European  king- 
dom was  so  large  a  population  subject  to  a  single  prince, 
or  so  large  a  revenue  poured  into  the  treasury.  The 
beauty  and  magnificence  of  the  buildings  erected  by 
the  sovereigns  of  Hindostan  amazed  even  travellers 
who  had  seen  St.  Peters.  The  innumerable  retinues 
and  gorgeous  decorations  which  surrounded  the  throne 
of  Delhi  dazzled  even  eyes  which  were  accustomed  to 
the  pomp  of  Versailles.  Some  of  the  great  viceroys 
who  held  their  posts  by  virtue  of  commissions  from  the 
Mogul  ruled  as  many  subjects  as  the  King  of  France 
or  the  Emperor  of  Germany.  Even  the  deputies  of 
these  deputies  might  well  rank,  as  to  extent  of  territory 
and  amount  of  revenue,  with  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tus- 
cany or  the  Elector  of  Saxony. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  great  empire, 
powerful  and  prosperous  as  it  appears  on  a  superficial 
view,  was  yet,  even  in  its  best  days,  far  worse  governed 
than  the  worst  governed  parts  of  Europe  now  are. 
The  administration  was  tainted  with  all  the  vices  of 
Oriental  despotism,  and  with  all  the  vices  inseparable 
from  the  domination  of  race  over  race.  The  conflict- 
ing pretensions  of  the  princes  of  the  roval  house  pro- 


LORD  CLIVE.  205 

iuced  a  long  scries  of  crimes  and  public  disasters. 
Ambitious  lieutenants  of  the  sovereign  sometimes  as- 
pired to  independence.  Fierce  tribes  of  Hindoos, 
impatient  of  a  foreign  yoke,  frequently  withheld  trib- 
ute, repelled  the  armies  of  the  government  from  the 
mountain  fastnesses,  and  poured  down  in  arms  on  the 
cultivated  plains.  In  spite,  however,  of  much  constant 
maladministration,  in  spite  of  occasional  convulsions 
ivhich  shook  the  whole  frame  of  society,  this  great 
monarchy,  on  the  whole,  retained,  during  some  gen- 
erations, an  outward  appearance  of  unity,  majesty, 
and  energy.  But,  throughout  the  long  reign  of  Au- 
rungzebe,  the  state,  notwithstanding  all  that  the  vig- 
our and  policy  of  the  prince  could  effect,  was  has- 
tening to  dissolution.  After  his  death,  which  took 
place  in  the  year  1707,  the  ruin  was  fearfully  rapid. 
Violent  shocks  from  without  co-operated  with  an  in- 
curable decay  which  was  fast  proceeding  within ;  and 
in  a  few  years  the  empire  had  undergone  utter  decom- 
position. 

The  history  of  the  successors  of  Theodosius  bears  no 
small  analogy  to  that  of  the  successors  of  Aurungzebe. 
But  perhaps  the  fall  of  the  Carlovingians  furnishes  the 
nearest  parallel  to  the  fall  of  the  Moguls.  Charle- 
magne was  scarcely  interred  when  the  imbecility  and 
the  disputes  of  his  descendants  began  to  bring  contempt 
on  themselves  and  destruction  on  their  subjects.  The 
wide  dominion  of  the  Franks  was  severed  into  a  thou- 
Bar.d  pieces.  Nothing  more  than  a  nominal  dignity 
tras  left  to  the  abject  heirs  of  an  illustrious  name, 
Charles  the  Bald,  and  Charles  the  Fat,  and  Charles  the 
Simple.  Fierce  invaders,  differing  from  each  other  in 
?ace,  language,  and  religion,  flocked,  as  if  by  concert, 
(rom  the  farthest  comers  of  the  earth,  to  plunder 


206  LORD  CLIVE. 

provinces  which  the  government  could  no  longer  do 
fend.  The  pirates  of  the  Northern  Sea  extended  their 
ravages  from  the  Elbe  to  the  Pyrenees,  and  at  length 
fixed  their  seat  in  the  rich  valley  of  the  Seine.  The 
Hungarian,  in  whom  the  trembling  monks  fancied  that 
they  recognized  the  Gog  or  Magog  of  prophecy,  car- 
ried back  the  plunder  of  the  cities  of  Lombardy  to  the 
depths  of  the  Pannonian  forests.  The  Saracen  ruled 
in  Sicily,  desolated  the  fertile  plains  of  Campania,  and 
spread  terror  even  to  the  walls  of  Rome.  In  the  midst 
of  these  sufferings,  a  great  internal  change  passed  upon 
the  empire.  The  corruption  of  death  began  to  ferment 
into  new  forms  of  life.  While  the  great  body,  as  a 
whole,  was  torpid  and  passive,  every  separate  member 
began  to  feel  with  a  sense,  and  to  move  with  an  energy 
all  its  own.  Just  here,  in  the  most  barren  and  dreary 
tract  of  European  history,  all  feudal  privileges,  all  mod- 
ern nobility,  take  their  soxirce.  It  is  to  this  point  that 
we  trace  the  power  of  those  princes  who,  nominally 
vassals,  but  really  independent,  long  governed,  with 
the  titles  of  dukes,  marquesses,  and  counts,  almost 
every  part  of  the  dominions  which  had  obeyed  Charle- 
magne. 

Such  or  nearly  such  was  the  change  which  passed  on 
the  Mogul  empire  during  the  forty  years  which  followed 
the  death  of  Aurungzebe.  A  succession  of  nominal 
sovereigns,  sunk  in  indolence  and  debauchery,  sauntered 
fcway  life  in  secluded  palaces,  chewing  bang,  fondling 
concubines,  and  listening  to  buffoons.  A  succession  of 
ferocious  invaders  descended  through  the  western 
passes,  to  prey  on  the  defenceless  wealth  of  Hindostan. 
A  Persian  conqueror  crossed  the  Indus,  marched  through 
the  gates  of  Delhi,  and  bore  away  in  "U'lumph  those 
treasures  of  whicl  the  magnificence  had  astounded  Rot 


LORD  CLIVE.  207 

and  Bernier,  the  Peacock  Throne,  on  which  the  richest 
jewels  of  Golconda  had  been  disposed  by  the  most  skil- 
ftil  hands  of  Europe,  and  the  inestimable  Mountain  of 
Light,  which,  after  many  strange  vicissitudes,  lately 
shone  in  the  bracelet  of  Runjeet  Sing,  and  is  now  destined 
to  adorn  the  hideous  idol  of  Orissa.  The  Afghan  soon 
followed  to  complete  the  work  of  devastation  Avhich  the 
Persian  had  begun.  The  warlike  tribes  of  Rajpootana 
threw  off  the  Mussulman  yoke.  A  band  of  mercenary 
soldiers  occupied  Rohilcund.  The  Seiks  ruled  on  the 
Indus.  The  Jauts  spread  dismay  along  the  Jumna. 
The  highlands  which  border  on  the  western  sea-coast 
of  India  poured  forth  a  yet  more  formidable  race,  a  race 
which  was  long  the  terror  of  every  native  power,  and 
which,  after  many  desperate  and  doubtful  struggles, 
yielded  only  to  the  fortune  and  genius  of  England.  It 
was  under  the  reign  of  Aurungzebe  that  this  wild  clan 
of  plunderers  first  descended  from  their  mountains ;  and 
soon  after  his  death,  every  corner  of  his  wide  empire 
learned  to  tremble  at  the  mighty  name  of  the  Mahrat- 
tas.  Many  fertile  viceroyalties  were  entirely  subdued 
by  them.  Their  dominions  stretched  across  the  penin- 
sula from  sea  to  sea.  Mahratta  captains  reigned  at 
Poonah,  at  Gualior,  in  Guzerat,  in  Berar,  and  in  Tan- 
jore.  Nor  did  they,  though  they  had  become  great 
sovereigns,  therefore  cease  to  be  freebooters.  They 
still  retained  the  predatory  habits  of  their  forefathers. 
Every  region  which  was  not  subject  to  their  rule  was 
wasted  by  their  incursions.  Wherever  their  kettle- 
drums were  heard,  the  peasant  threw  his  bag  of  rice  on 
his  shoulder,  hid  his  small  savings  in  his  girdle,  and  fled 
ivith  his  wife  and  children  to  the  mountains  or  the  jun- 
gles, to  the  milder  neighbourhood  of  the  hyaena  and  the 
tiger.  Many  provinces  redeemed  their  harvests  by  tha 


208  LORD  CLIVE. 

payment  of  an  annual  ransom.  Even  tlic  wretched 
phantom  who  still  bore  the  imperial  title  stooped  to  pay 
this  ignominious  black-mail.  The  camp-fires  of  one 
rapacious  leader  were  seen  from  the  "uaHs  of  the  palace 
of  Delhi.  Another,  at  the  head  of  his  innumerable 
cavalry,  descended  year  after  year  on  the  rice-fields  of 
Bengal.  Even  the  European  factors  trembled  for  their 
magazines.  Less  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  it  was 
thought  necessary  to  fortify  Calcutta  against  the  horse- 
men of  Berar,  and  the  name  of  the  Mahratta  ditch  still 
preserves  the  memory  of  the  danger. 

Wherever  the  viceroys  of  the  Mogul  retained  author- 
ity they  became  sovereigns.  They  might  still  acknowl- 
edge in  words  the  superiority  of  the  house  of  Tamerlane  ; 
as  a  Count  of  Flanders  or  a  Duke  of  Burgundy  might 
have  acknowledged  the  superiority  of  the  most  helpless 
driveller  among  the  later  Carlovingians.  They  might 
occasionally  send  to  their  titular  sovereign  a  compli- 
mentary present,  or  solicit  from  him  a  title  of  honour. 
In  truth,  however,  they  were  no  longer  lieutenants  re- 
movable at  pleasure,  but  independent  hereditary  princes. 
In  this  way  originated  those  great  Mussulman  houses 
which  formerly  ruled  Bengal  and  the  Camatic,  and 
those  which  still,  though  in  a  state  of  vassalage,  exer- 
cise some  of  the  powers  of  royalty  at  Lucknow  and 
Hyderabad. 

In  what  was  this  confusion  to  end  ?  Was  the  strife 
to  continue  during  centuries  ?  Was  it  to  terminate 
in  the  rise  of  another  great  monarchy  ?  Was  the 
Mussulman  or  the  Mahratta  to  be  the  Lord  of  India  ? 
Was  another  Baber  to  descend  from  the  mountains,  and 
to  lead  the  hardy  tribes  of  Cabul  and  Chorasan  against 
a  wealthier  and  less  warlike  race  ?  None  of  thesa 
events  seemed  improbable.  But  scarcely  any  man, 


LORD  CLIVE.  209 

however  sagacious,  would  have  thought  it  possible 
that  a  trading  company,  separated  from  India  by 
fifteen  thousand  miles  of  sea,  and  possessing  in  India 
only  a  few  acres  for  purposes  of  commerce,  would, 
in  less  than  a  hundred  years,  spread  its  empire  from 
Cape  Comorin  to  the  eternal  snow  of  the  Himalayas ; 
would  compel  Mahratta  and  Mahommedan  to  forget 
their  mutual  feuds  in  common  subjection  ;  would  tame 
down  even  those  wild  races  which  had  resisted  the  most 
powerful  of  the  Moguls  ;  and,  having  united  under  its 
laws  a  hundred  millions  of  subjects,  would  carry  its 
victorious  arms  far  to  the  east  of  the  Buivampooter, 
and  far  to  the  west  of  the  Hydaspes,  dictate  terms  of 
peace  at  the  gates  of  Ava,  and  seat  its  vassal  on  tho 
throne  of  Candahar. 

The  man  who  first  saw  that  it  wras  possible  to 
found  an  European  empire  on  the  ruins  of  the  Mogul 
monarchy  was  Dupleix.  His  restless,  capricious,  and 
inventive  mind  had  formed  this  scheme,  at  a  time 
when  the  ablest  servants  of  the  English  Company 
were  busied  only  about  invoices  and  bills  of  lading. 
Nor  had  he  only  proposed  to  himself  the  end.  Ho 
had  also  a  just  and  distinct  view  of  the  means  by 
which  it  was  to  be  attained.  He  clearly  saw  that  the 
greatest  force  which  the  princes  of  India  could  bring 
into  the  field  would  be  no  match  for  a  small  body  of 
men  trained  in  the  discipline,  and  guided  by  the  tac- 
tics, of  the  West.  He  saw  also  that  the  natives  of 
India  might,  under  European  commanders,  be  formed 
into  armies,  such  as  Saxe  or  Frederic  would  be  proud 
jo  command.  He  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  most 
easy  and  convenient  way  in  which  an  European  ad- 
venturer could  exercise  sovereignty  in  India,  was  to 
govern  the  motions,  and  to  speak  through  tha  mouth 


210  LORD  CLIVE. 

of  some  glittering  puppet  dignified  by  the  title  of 
Nabob  or  Nizam.  The  arts  both  of  war  and  policy, 
which  a  few  years  later  were  employed  with  such 
signal  success  by  the  English,  were  first  understood 
and  practised  by  this  ingenious  and  aspiring  French- 
man. 

The  situation  of  India  was  such  that  scarcely  any 
aggression  could  be  without  a  pretext,  either  in  eld 
laws  or  in  recent  practice.  All  rights  were  in  a  state 
of  utter  uncertainty ;  and  the  Europeans  who  took 
part  in  the  disputes  of  the  natives  confounded  the 
confusion,  by  applying  to  Asiatic  politics  the  public 
law  of  the  West  and  analogies  drawn  from  the  feudal 
system.  If  it  was  convenient  to  treat  a  Nabob  as  an 
independent  prince,  there  was  an  excellent  plea  for 
doing  so.  He  was  independent  in  fact.  If  it  was  con- 
venient to  treat  him  as  a  mere  deputy  of  the  Court 
of  Delhi,  there  was  no  difficulty  ;  for  he  was  so  in 
theory.  If  it  was  convenient  to  consider  his  office  as 
an  hereditary  dignity,  or  as  a  dignity  held  during  life 
only,  or  as  a  dignity  held  only  during  the  good  pleas- 
ure of  the  Mogul,  arguments  and  precedents  might  be 
found  for  eveiy  one  of  those  views.  The  party  who 
had  the  heir  of  Baber  in  their  hands  represented  him 
as  the  undoubted,  the  legitimate,  the  absolute  sover- 
eign, whom  all  subordinate  authorities  were  bound 
to  obey.  The  party  against  whom  his  name  was  used 
did  not  want  plausible  pretexts  for  maintaining  that 
the  empire  was  in  fact  dissolved,  and  that,  though  it 
might  be  decent  to  treat  the  Mogul  with  respect,  as  a 
venerable  relic  of  an  order  of  things  which  had  passed 
away,  it  was  absurd  to  regard  him  as  the  real  master 
»f  Hindostan. 

In  the  year  1748,  died  one  of  the  most  powerful  of 


LORD  CLIVE.  211 

tne  new  masters  of  India,  the  great  Nizam  al  Mulk, 
Viceroy  of  the  Deccan.  His  authority  descended  to 
his  son,  Nazir  Jung.  Of  the  provinces  subject  to  this 
high  functionary,  the  Carnatic  was  the  wealthiest  and 
the  most  extensive.  It  was  governed  Ly  an  ancient 
Nahob,  whose  name  the  English  corrupted  into  Ana- 
verdy  Khan. 

But  there  were  pretenders  to  the  government  both 
of  the  viceroyalty  and  of  the  subordinate  province. 
Mirzapha  Jung,  a  grandson  of  Nizam  al  Mulk,  ap- 
peared as  the  competitor  of  Nazir  Jung.  Chunda  Sa- 
hib, son-in-law  of  a  former  Nabob  of  the  Carnatic,  dis- 
puted the  title  of  Anaverdy  Khan.  In  the  unsettled 
state  of  Indian  law  it  was  easy  for  both  Mirzapha  Jung 
and  Chunda  Sahib  to  make  out  something  like  a  claim 
of  right.  In  a  society  altogether  disorganized,  they 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  greedy  adventurers  to  follow 
their  standards.  They  united  their  interests,  invaded 
the  Carnatic,  and  applied  for  assistance  to  the  French, 
whose  fame  had  been  raised  by  their  success  against 
the  English  in  the  recent  war  on  the  coast  of  Coro- 
mandel. 

Nothing  could  have  happened  more  pleasing  to  the 
subtile  and  ambitious  Dupleix.  To  make  a  Nabob  of 
the  Carnatic,  to  make  a  Viceroy  of  the  Deccan,  to  rule 
under  their  names  the  whole  of  southern  India;  this 
was  indeed  an  attractive  prospect.  He  allied  himself 
with  the  pretenders,  and  sent  four  hundred  French  sol- 
diers, and  two  thousand  sepoys,  disciplined  after  the 
European  fashion,  to  the  assistance  of  his  confederates. 
A.  battle  was  fought.  The  French  distinguished  them- 
selves greatly.  Anaverdy  Khan  was  defeated  and 
slain.  His  son,  Mahommed  Ali,  who  was  afterwards 
veil  known  in  England  as  the  Nabob  of  Arcot,  arid 


212  LORD  CLIVE. 

who  owes  to  tlie  eloquence  of  Burke  a  most  unenviable 
immortality,  fled  with  a  scanty  remnant  of  his  army  to 
Trichinopoly  ;  and  the  conquerors  became  at  once  mas- 
ters of  almost  ever}'  part  of  the  Carnatic. 

This  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  greatness  of  Du- 
pleix.  After  some  months  of  fighting,  negotiation,  and 
intrigue,  his  ability  and  good  fortune  seemed  to  have 
prevailed  everywhere.  Nazir  Jung  perished  by  the 
hands  of  his  own  followers  ;  Mirzapha  Jung  was  mas- 
ter of  the  Deccan  ;  and  the  triumph  of  French  arms 
and  French  policy  was  complete.  At  Pondicherry  all 
was  exultation  and  festivity.  Salutes  were  fired  from 
the  batteries,  and  Te  Deum  sung  in  the  churches.  The 
new  Nizam  came  thither  to  visit  his  allies  ;  and  the 
ceremony  of  his  installation  was  performed  there  with 
great  pomp.  Dupleix,  dressed  in  the  garb  worn  by 
Mahommedans  of  the  highest  rank,  entered  the  town 
in  the  same  palanquin  with  the  Nizam,  and,  in  the  pa- 
geant which  followed,  took  precedence  of  all  the  court. 
He  was  declared  Governor  of  India  from  the  river 
Kristna  to  Cape  Comorin,  a  country  about  as  large  as 
France,  with  authority  superior  even  to  that  of  Chunda 
Sahib.  He  was  intrusted  with  the  command  of  seven 
thousand  cavalry.  It  \vas  announced  that  no  mint 
would  be  suffered  to  exist  in  the  Carnatic  except  that 
at  Pondicherry.  A  large  portion  of  the  treasures  which 
former  Viceroys  of  the  Deccan  had  accumulated  found 
its  way  into  the  coffers  of  the  French  governor.  It  was 
rumoured  that  he  had  received  two  hundred  thousan 
pounds  sterling  in  money,  besides  many  valuable  jewels. 
In  fact,  there  could  scarcely  be  any  limit  to  his  gains. 
He  now  ruled  thirty  millions  of  people  with  almost  ab- 
solute power.  No  honour  or  emolument  could  be  ob- 
lained  from  the  government  but  by  his  intervention 


LORD  CLIVE.  213 

No  petition,  unless  signed  by  him,  was  perused  by  the 
Nizam. 

Mirzaplia  Jung  survived  his  elevation  only  a  few 
months.  But  another  prince  of  the  same  house  was 
raised  to  the  throne  by  French  influence,  and  ratified 
aH  the  promises  of  his  predecessor.  Dupleix  was  now 
the  greatest  potentate  in  India.  His  countrymen  boasted 
that  his  name  was  mentioned  with  awe  even  in  the 
chambers  of  the  palace  of  Delhi.  The  native  popula- 
tion looked  with  amazement  on  the  progress  which,  in 
the  short  space  of  four  years,  an  European  adventurer 
had  made  towards  dominion  in  Asia.  Nor  was  the 
vain-glorious  Frenchman  content  with  the  reality  of 
pOAver.  He  loved  to  display  his  greatness  with  arro- 
gant ostentation  before  the  eyes  of  his  subjects  and  of  his 
rivals.  Near  the  spot  where  his  policy  had  obtained 
its  chief  triumph,  by  the  fall  of  Nazir  Jung  and  the 
elevation  of  Mirzapha,  he  determined  to  erect  a  column, 
on  the  four  sides  of  which  four  pompous  inscriptions,  in 
four  languages,  should  proclaim  his  glory  to  all  the  na- 
tions of  the  East.  Medals  stamped  with  emblems  of 
his  successes  were  buried  beneath  the  foundations  of  thi? 
stately  pillar,  and  round  it  arose  a  town  bearing  the 
haughty  name  of  Dupleix  Fatihabad,  which  is,  being 
interpreted,  the -City  of  the  Victory  of  Dupleix. 

The  English  had  made  some  feeble  and  irresolute  at- 
tempts to  stop  the  rapid  and  brilliant  career  of  the  rival 
Company,  and  continued  to  recognize  Mahommed  Ali 
as  Nabob  of  the  Carnatic.  But  the  dominions  of  Ma- 
liommed  Ali  consisted  of  Trichinopoly  alone  ;  and  Tri- 
chinopoly  was  now  invested  by  Chunda  Sahib  and  his 
French  auxiliaries.  To  raise  the  siege  seemed  impo'ssi- 
ble.  The  small  force  which  was  then  at  Madras  had 
ao  commander.  Major  Lawrence  had  returned  tc 


214  LORD  CLIVE. 

England ;  and  not  a  single  officer  of  established  cliar« 
acter  remained  in  the  settlement.  The  natives  had 
learned  to  look  with  contempt  on  the  mighty  nation 
which  was  soon  to  conquer  and  to  rule  them.  They 
had  seen  the  French  colours  flying  on  Fort  St.  George  ; 
they  had  seen  the  chiefs  of  the  English  factory  led  in 
triumph  through  the  streets  of  Pondicherry  ;  they  had 
seen  the  arms  and  counsels  of  Dupleix  everywhere  suc- 
cessful, while  the  opposition  which  the  authorities  of 
Madras  had  made  to  his  progress,  had  served  only  to 
expose  their  own  weakness,  and  to  heighten  his  glory. 
At  this  moment,  the  valour  and  genius  of  an  obscure 
English  youth  suddenly  turned  the  tide  of  fortune. 

Clive  was  now  twenty-five  years  old.  After  hesitat- 
ing for  some  time  between  a  military  and  a  commercial 
life,  he  had  at  length  been  placed  in  a  post  which  par- 
took of  both  characters,  that  of  commissary  to  the 
troops,  with  the  rank  of  captain.  The  present  emer- 
gency called  forth  ah1  his  powers.  He  represented  to 
lu's  superiors  that  unless  some  vigorous  effort  were  made, 
Trichinopoly  would  fall,  the  house  of  Anaverdy  Khan 
would  perish,  and  the  French  would  become  the  real 
masters  of  the  whole  peninsula  of  India.  It  was  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  strike  some  daring  blow.  If  an 
attack  were  made  on  Arcot,  the  capital  of  the  Carnatic, 
and  the  favourite  residence  of  the  Nabobs,  it  was  not 
impossible  that  the  siege  of  Trichinopoly  would  be 
raised.  The  heads  of  the  English  settlement,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed  by  the  success  of  Dupleix,  and  ap- 
prehensive that,  in  the  event  of  a  new  war  between 
France  and  Great  Britain,  Madras  would  be  instantly 
taken  and  destroyed,  approved  of  Olive's  plan,  and  in 
trusted  the  execution  of  it  to  himself.  The  young  cap- 
tain was  put  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  English  sol- 


LORD  CLIVE.  215 

diers,  and  three  hundred  sepoys,  armed  and  disciplined 
after  the  European  fashion.  Of  the  eight  officers  who 
commanded  tliis  little  force  under  him,  only  two  had 
ever  been  in  action,  and  four  of  the  eight  were  factors 
of  the  company,  whom  Olive's  example  had  induced  to 
ofler  their  services.  The  weather  was  iitormy ;  but 
Olive  pushed  on,  through  thunder,  lightning,  and  rain, 
to  the  gates  of  Arcot.  The  garrison,  in  a  panic, 
evacuated  the  fort,  and  the  English  entered  it  without 
a  blow. 

But  Olive  well  knew  that  he  should  not  be  suffered 
to  retain  undisturbed  possession  of  liis  conquest.  He 
instantly  began  to  collect  provisions,  to  throw  up  works, 
and  to  make  preparations  for  sustaining  a  siege.  The 
garrison,  which  had  fled  at  his  approach,  had  now  re- 
covered from  its  dismay,  and,  having  been  swollen  by 
large  reinforcements  from  the  neighbourhood  to  a  force 
of  three  thousand  men,  encamped  close  to  the  town. 
At  dead  of  night,  Ch've  marched  out  of  the  fort,  at- 
tacked the  camp  by  surprise,  slew  great  numbers,  dis- 
persed the  rest,  and  returned  to  his  quarters  without 
having  lost  a  single  man. 

The  intelligence  of  these  events  was  soon  carried  to 
Chunda  Sahib,  who,  with  his  French  allies,  was  be- 
sieging Trichinopoly.  He  immediately  detached  four 
thousand  men  from  his  camp,  and  sent  them  to  Arcot. 
They  were  speedily  joined  by  the  remains  of  the  force 
which  Olive  had  lately  scattered.  They  were  further 
strengthened  by  two  thousand  men  from  Vellore,  and 
by  a  still  more  important  reinforcement  of  a  hundred 
mid  fifty  French  soldiers  whom  Dupleix  despatched 
from  Pondicherry.  The  whole  of  this  army,  amounting 
to  about  ten  thousand  men,  wTas  under  the  command 
of  Rajah  Sahib,  son  of  Chunda  Sahib. 


216  LORD  CLIVE. 

Rajah  Sahib  proceeded  to  invest  the  fort  of  Arcot 
which  seemed  quite  incapable  of  sustaining  a  siege 
The  walls  were  ruinous,  the  ditches  dry,  the  ramparta 
too  narrow  to  admit  the  guns,  the  battlements  too  low 
to  protect  the  soldiers.  The  little  garrison  had  been 
greatly  reduced  by  casualties.  It  now  consisted  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  Europeans  and  two  hundred 
sepoys.  Only  four  officers  were  left ;  the  stock  of 
provisions  was  scanty ;  and  the  commander,  who  had 
to  conduct  the  defende'  under  circumstances  so  dis- 
couraging, was  a  young  man  of  five  and  twenty,  who 
had  been  bred  a  book-keeper. 

During  fifty  days  the  siege  went  on.  During  fifty 
days  the  young  captain  maintained  the  defence,  with 
a  firmness,  vigilance,  and  ability,  which  would  have 
done  honour  to  the  oldest  marshal  in  Europe.  The 
breach,  however,  increased  day  by  day.  The  garrison 
began  to  feel  the  pressure  of  hunger.  Under  such 
circumstances,  any  troops  so  scantily  provided  with 
officers  might  have  been  expected  to  show  signs  of 
insubordination  ;  and  the  danger  was  peculiarly  great 
in  a  force  composed  of  men  differing  widely  from  each 
other  in  extraction,  colour,  language,  manners,  and 
religion.  But  the  devotion  of  the  little  band  to  its 
?hief  surpassed  any  thing  that  is  related  of  the  Tenth 
Legion  of  Csesar,  or  of  the  Old  Guard  of  Napoleon. 
The  sepoys  came  to  Clive,  not  to  complain  of  their 
scanty  fare,  but  to  propose  that  all  the  grain  should  be 
given  to  the  Europeans,  who  required  more  nourish- 
ment than  the  natives  of  Asia.  The  thin  gruel,  they 
said,  which  was  strained  away  from  the  rice,  would 
suffice  for  themselves.  History  contains  no  more 
touching  instance  of  military  fidelity,  or  of  the  influence 
of  a  commanding  mind. 


LORD  CLIVE.  217 

An  attempt  made  by  the  government  of  Madras  to 
relieve  the  place  had  failed.  But  there  was  hope  frpm 
another  quarter.  A  body  of  six  thousand  Mahrattas, 
half  soldiers,  half  robbers,  under  the  command  of  a 
chief  named  Morari  Row,  had  been  hired  to  assist 
Mahommed  Ali ;  but  thinking  the  French  power 
irresistible,  and  the  triumph  of  Chunda  Sahib  certain, 
they  had  hitherto  remained  inactive  on  the  frontiers 
of  the  Carnatic.  The  fame  of  the  defence  of  Arcot 
roused  them  from  their  torpor.  Morari  Row  declared 
that  he  had  never  before  believed  that  Englishmen 
could  fight,  but  that  he  would  willingly  help  them 
since  he  saw  that  they  had  spirit  to  help  themselves. 
Rajah  Sahib  learned  that  the  Mahrattas  were  in  motion. 
It  was  necessary  for  him  to  be  expeditious.  He  first 
tried  negotiation.  He  offered  large  bribes  to  Clive, 
which  were  rejected  with  scorn.  He  vowed  that,  if 
his  proposals  were  not  accepted,  he  would  instantly 
storm  the  fort,  and  put  eveiy  man  in  it  to  the  sword. 
Clive  told  him  in  reply,  with  characteristic  haughtiness, 
that  his  father  was  an  usurper,  that  his  army  was  a 
rabble,  and  that  he  would  do  well  to  think  twice  before 
he  sent  such  poltroons  into  a  breach  defended  by  Eng- 
lish soldiers. 

Rajah  Sahib  determined  to  storm  the  fort.  The  day 
was  well  suited  to  a  bold  military  enterprise.  It  was 
the  great  Mahommedan  festival  which  is  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  Hosein  the  son  of  Ali.  The  history  of 
Islam  contains  nothing  more  touching  than  the  event 
which  gave  rise  to  that  solemnity.  The  mournful  le- 
gend relates  how  the  chief  of  the  Fatimitcs,  when  all 
his  brave  followers  had  perished  round  him,  drank  his 
latest  draught  of  water,  and  uttered  his  latest  prayer, 
how  the  assassins  carried  his  head  in  triumph,  how  tl.e 

VOL.  IV.  10 


218  LORD  CLIVE. 

tjTaiit  smote  tlie  lifeless  lips  with  liis  staff,  and  how  9 
few  old  men  recollected  with  tears  that  they  had  seen 
those  lips  pressed  to  the  lips  of  the  Prophet  of  God. 
After  the  lapse  of  near  twelve  centuries,  the  recurrence 
of  this  solemn  season  excites  the  fiercest  and  saddest 
emotions  in  the  bosoms  of  the  devout  Moslem  of  India. 
They  work  themselves  up  to  such  agonies  of  rage  and 
lamentation  that  some,  it  is  said,  have  given  up  the 
ghost  from  the  mere  effect  of  mental  excitement. 
They  believe  that  whoever,  during  this  festival,  falls  in 
arms  against  the  infidels,  atones  by  his  death  for  all  the 
sins  of  his  life,  and  passes  at  once  to  the  garden  of  the 
Houris.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Rajah  Sahib  determined 
to  assault  Arcot.  Stimulating  drugs  were  employed  to 
aid  the  effect  of  religious  zeal,  and  the  besiegers,  drunk 
with  enthusiasm,  drunk  with  bang,  rushed  furiously  to 
the  attack. 

Clive  had  received  secret  intelligence  of  the  design, 
had  made  his  arrangements,  and,  exhausted  by  fatigue, 
had  thrown  himself  on  his  bed.  He  was  awakened  by 
the  alarm,  and  was  instantly  at  his  post.  The  enemy 
advanced,  driving  before  them  elephants  whose  fore- 
heads were  armed  with  iron  plates.  It  was  expected 
that  the  gates  would  yield  to  the  shock  of  these  living 
battering-rams.  But  the  huge  beasts  no  sooner  felt  the 
English  musket  balls  than  they  turned  round,  and  rushed 
furiously  away,  trampling  on  the  multitude  which  had 
urged  them  forward.  A  raft  was  launched  on  the  water 
which  filled  one  part  of  the  ditch.  Clive,  perceiving 
that  liis  gunners  at  that  post  did  not  understand  their 
business  took  the  management  of  a  piece  of  artillery 
himself,  and  cleared  the  raft  in  a  few  minutes.  Where 
ihe  moat  was  dry  the  assailants  mounted  with  great 
boldness ;  but  they  were  received  with  a  fire  so 


LORD  CLIVE.  219 

und  so  well  directed,  that  it  soon  quelled  the  courage 
even  of  fanaticism  and  of  intoxication.  The  rear  ranks 
of  the  English  kept  the  front  ranks  supplied  with  a 
constant  succession  of  loaded  muskets,  and  every  shot 
told  on  the  living  mass  below.  After  three  desperate 
onsets,  the  besiegers  retired  behind  the  ditch. 

The  struggle  lasted  about  an  hour.  Four  hundred 
of  the  assailants  fell.  The  garrison  lost  only  five  or  six 
men.  The  besieged  passed  an  anxious  night,  looking 
for  a  renewal  of  the  attack.  But  when  day  broke,  the 
enemy  were  no  more  to  be  seen.  They  had  retired, 
leaving  to  the  English  several  guns  and  a  large  quantity 
of  ammunition. 

The  news  was  received  at  Fort  St.  George  with 
transports  of  joy  and  pride.  Clive  was  justly  regarded 
as  a  man  equal  to  any  command.  Two  hundred  Eng- 
lish soldiers  and  seven  hundred  sepoys  were  sent  to  him, 
and  with  this  force  he  instantly  commenced  offensive 
operations.  He  took  the  fort  of  Timery,  effected  a 
junction  with  a  division  of  Morari  Row's  army,  and 
hastened,  by  forced  marches,  to  attack  Rajah  Sahib, 
who  was  at  the  head  of  about  five  thousand  men,  of 
whom  three  hundred  were  French.  The  action  was 
sharp  ;  but  Clive  gained  a  complete  victory.  The  mili- 
tary chest  of  Rajah  Sahib  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
•.•oiiquerors.  Six  hundred  sepoys  who  had  served  in  the 
enemy's  army,  came  over  to  Olive's  quarters  and  were 
taken  into  the  British  service.  Conjeveram  surrendered 
without  a  blow.  The  governor  of  Amee  deserted 
Chunda  Sahib,  and  recognised  the  title  of  Mahommed 
Ml 

Had  the  entire  direction  of  the  war  been  intrusted 
lo  Clive,  it  would  probably  have  been  brought  to  a 
gpeedy  close.  But  the  timidity  and  incapacity  which 


220  LORD  CLIVE. 

appeared  in  all  the  movements  of  the  English,  except 
where  he  was  personally  present,  protracted  the  strag- 
gle. The  Mahrattas  muttered  that  his  soldiers  were 
of  a  different  race  from  the  British  whom  they  found 
elsewhere.  The  effect  of  this  languor  was  that  in  no 
long  time  Rajah  Sahib,  at  the  head  of  a  considerable 
army,  in  which  were  four  hundred  French  troops,  ap- 
peared almost  under  the  guns  of  Fort  St.  George,  and 
laid  waste  the  villas  and  gardens  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  English  settlement.  But  he  was  again  encoun- 
tered and  defeated  by  Clive.  More  than  a  hundred 
of  the  French  were  killed  or  taken,  a  loss  more  serious 
than  that  of  thousands  of  natives.  The  victorious 
army  marched  from  the  field  of  battle  to  Fort  St. 
David.  On  the  road  lay  the  City  of  the  Victory  of 
Dupleix,  and  the  stately  monument  which  was  de- 
signed to  commemorate  the  triumphs  of  France  in 
the  East.  Clive  ordered  both  the  city  and  the  mon- 
ument to  be  rased  to  the  ground.  He  was  induced, 
we  believe,  to  take  this  step,  not  by  personal  or  na- 
tional malevolence,  but  by  a  just  and  profound  policy. 
The  town  and  its  pompous  name,  the  pillar  and  its 
vaunting  inscriptions,  were  among  the  devices  by 
which  Dupleix  had  laid  the  public  mind  of  India 
inder  a  spell.  This  spell  it  was  dive's  business  to 
break.  The  natives  had  been  taught  that  France 
was  confessedly  the  first  power  in  Europe,  and  that 
the  English  did  not  presume  to  dispute  her  suprem- 
acy. No  measure  could  be  more  effectual  for  the  re- 
moving of  this  delusion  than  the  public  and  solemn 
demolition  of  the  French  trophies. 

The  government  of  Madras,  encouraged  by  these 
events,  determined  to  send  a  strong  detachment,  undr  t 
Clive,  to  reinforce  the  garrison  of  Trichinopoly.  Bn( 


LORD  CLIVE.  221 

just  at  this  conjuncture,  Major  Lawrence  arrived  froir. 
England,  and  assumed  the  chief  command.  From 
the  waywardness  and  impatience  of  control  which  had 
characterized  Clive,  Loth  at  school  and  in  the  counting- 
house,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  he  would  not, 
after  such  achievements,  act  with  zeal  and  good  hu- 
mour in  a  subordinate  capacity.  But  Lawrence  had 
early  treated  him  with  kindness  ;  and  it  is  bare  justice 
to  Clive  to  say  that,  proud  and  overbearing  as  he  was, 
kindness  was  never  thrown  away  upon  him.  He 
cheerfully  placed  himself  under  the  orders  of  his  old 
friend,  and  exerted  himself  as  strenuously  in  the  sec- 
ond post  as  he  could  have  done  in  the.  first.  Lawrence 
well  knew  the  value  of  such  assistance.  Though  him- 
self gifted  with  no  intellectual  faculty  higher  than  plain 
good  sense,  he  fully  appreciated  the  powers  of  his  bril- 
liant coadjutor.  Though  he  had  made  a  methodical 
study  of  military  tactics,  and,  like  all  men  regularly 
bred  to  a  profession,  was  disposed  to  look  with  disdain 
on  interlopers,  he  had  yet  liberality  enough  to  acknowl- 
edge that  Clive  was  an  exception  to  common  rules. 
"  Some  people,"  he  wrote,  "  are  pleased  to  term  Cap- 
tain Clive  fortunate  and  lucky ;  but,  in  my  opinion, 
from  the  knowledge  I  hare  of  the  gentleman,  he  de- 
served and  might  expect  from  his  conduct  every  thing 
is  it  fell  out ;  —  a  man  of  an  undaunted  resolution,  of 
a  cool  temper,  and  of  a  presence  of  mind  which  nevei 
left  him  in  the  greatest  danger  —  born  a  soldier ;  for, 
without  a  military  education  of  any  sort,  or  much  con- 
versing with  any  of  the  profession,  from  his  judgment 
&nd  good  sense,  he  led  on  an  army  like  an  experienced 
officer  and  a  brave  soldier,  with  a  prudence  that  cer- 
jainly  warranted  success." 

The  French  had  no  commander  to  oppose  to  the  two 


222  LORD  CLIVE 

friends.  Dupleix,  not  inferior  in  talents  for  negotiation 
and  intrigue  to  any  European  wlio  has  borne  a  part  in 
the  revolutions  of  India,  was  ill  qualified  to  direct  in 
person  military  operations.  He  had  not  been  bred  a 
soldier,  and  had  no  inclination  to  become  one.  His 
enemies  accused  him  of  personal  cowardice  ;  and  he 
defended  himself  in  a  strain  worthy  of  Captain  Bobu- 
dil.  He  kept  away  from  shot,  he  said,  because  silence 
and  tranquillity  were  propitious  to  his  genius,  and  he 
found  it  difficult  to  pursue  his  meditations  amidst  the 
noise  of  fire-arms.  He  was  thus  under  the  necessity 
of  intrusting  to  others  the  execution  of  his  great  war- 
like designs  ;  and  he  bitterly  complained  that  he  was  ill 
served.  He  had  indeed  been  assisted  by  one  officer  of 
eminent  merit,  the  celebrated  Bussy.  But  Bussy  had 
marched  northward  with  the  Nizam,  and  was  fully 
employed  in  looking  after  his  own  interests,  and  those 
of  France,  at  the  court  of  that  prince.  Among  the 
officers  who  remained  with  Dupleix,  there  was  not  a 
single  man  of  capacity  ;  and  many  of  them  were  boys, 
at  whose  ignorance  and  folly  the  common  soldiers 
laughed. 

The  English  triumphed  everywhere.  The  be- 
siegers of  Trichinopoly  were  themselves  besieged  and 
compelled  to  capitulate.  Chunda  Sahib  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Mahrattas,  and  was  put  to  death,  at  the 
instigation  probably  of  his  competitor,  Mahommed  All. 
The  spirit  of  Dupleix,  however,  was  unconquerable,  and 
nis  resources  inexhaustible.  From  his  employers  in 
Europe  he  no  longer  received  help  or  countenance. 
They  condemned  his  policy.  They  gave  him  no  pe- 
cuniary assistance.  They  sent  him  for  troops  only  the 
sweepings  of  the  galleys.  Yet  still  he  persisted,  in- 
trigued, bribed,  promised,  lavished  his  private  foi'tune 


LORD  CLIVE.  223 

(strained  his  credit,  procured  new  diplomas  from  Delhi, 
raised  up  new  enemies  to  the  government  of-Madras  on 
every  side,  and  found  tools  even  among  the  allies  of  the 
English  Company.  But  all  was  in  vain.  SloAvly,  but 
steadily,  the  power  of  Britain  continued  to  increase,  and 
that  of  France  to  decline. 

The  health  of  Clive  had  never  been  good  during  his 
residence  in  India ;  and  his  constitution  was  now  so 
much  impaired  that  he  determined  to  return  to  Eng- 
land. Before  his  departure  he  undertook  a  service  of 
considerable  difficulty,  and  performed  it  with  his  usual 
vigour  and  dexterity.  The  forts  of  Covelong  and  Chin- 
gleput  were  occupied  by  French  garrisons.  It  was  de- 
termined to  send  a  force  against  them.  But  the^  only 
force  available  for  this  purpose  was  of  such  a  descrip- 
tion that  no  officer  but  Clive  would  risk  his  reputation 
by  commanding  it.  It  consisted  of  five  hundred  newly 
levied  sepoys,  and  two  hundred  recruits  who  had  just 
landed  from  England,  and  who  were  the  worst  and 
lowest  wretches  that  the  Company's  crimps  could  pick 
up  in  the  flash-houses  of  London.  Clive,  ill  and  ex- 
hausted as  he  was,  undertook  to  make  an  army  of  this 
undisciplined  rabble,  and  marched  with  them  to  Cove- 
long.  A  shot  from  the  fort  killed  one  of  these  extraor- 
dinary soldiers  ;  on  which  all  the  rest  faced  about  and 
ran  away,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
Clive  rallied  them.  On  another  occasion,  the  noise  of 
a  gun  terrified  the  sentinels  so  much  that  one  of  them 
*ra3  found,  some  hours  later,  at  the  bottom  of  a  well. 
Cliv3  gradually  accustomed  them  to  danger,  and,  by 
exposing  himself  constantly  in  the  most  perilous  situa- 
tions, shamed  them  into  courage.  He  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  forming  a  respectable  force  out  of  his  un- 
promising materials.  Covelong  fell.  Clive  learned 


£24  LORD  CLIVE. 

that  a  strong  detachment  was  marching  to  iclieve  it 
from  Chingleput.  He  took  measures  to  prevent  the 
enemy  from  learning  that  they  were  too  late,  laid  an 
ambuscade  for  them  on  the  road,  killed  a  hundred  of 
them  with  one  fire,  took  three  hundred  prisoners,  pur- 
sued the  fugitives  to  the  gates  of  Chingleput,  laid  siege 
instantly  to  that  fastness,  reputed  one  of  the  strongest 
in  India,  made  a  breach,  and  was  on  the  point  of  storm- 
ing, when  the  French  commandant  capitulated  and  re 
tired  with  his  men. 

Clive  returned  to  Madras  victorious,  but  in  a  state 
of  health  which  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  re- 
main there  long.  He  married  at  this  time  a  young 
lady  of  the  name  of  Maskelyne,  sister  of  the  eminent 
mathematician,  who  long  held  the  post  of  Astronomer 
Royal.  She  is  described  as  handsome  and  accom- 
plished ;  and  her  husband's  letters,  it  is  said,  contain 
proofs  that  he  was  devotedly  attached  to  her. 

Almost  immediately  after  the  marriage,  Clive  em- 
barked with  his  bride  for  England.  He  returned  a 
very  different  person  from  the  poor  slighted  boy  who 
had  been  sent  out  ten  years  before  to  seek  his  fortune. 
He  was  only  twenty-seven  ;  yet  his  country  already 
respected  him  as  one  of  her  first  soldiers.  There  was 
then  general  peace  in  Europe.  The  Carnatic  was  the 
only  part  of  the  world  where  the  English  and  French 
were  in  arms  against  each  other.  The  vast  schemes 
ef  Dupleix  had  excited  no  small  uneasiness  in  the  city 
of  London ;  and  the  rapid  turn  of  fortune,  which  was 
chiefly  owing  to  the  courage  and  talents  of  Clive,  had 
been  hailed  with  great  delight.  The  young  captain 
tvas  known  at  the  India  House  by  the  honourable  nick- 
name of  General  Clive,  and  was  toasted  by  that  appel- 
lation at  the  feasts  of  the  Directors.  On  his  arrival  in 


LORD  CLIVE.  225 

England,  lie  found  himself  an  object  ~»f  general  Interest 
and  admiration.  The  East  India  Company  thanked 
him  for  his  services  in  the  warmest  terms,  and  bestowed 
on  bim  a  sword  set  with  diamonds.  With  rare  delicacy, 
he  refused  to  receive  this  token  of  gratitude,  unless  a 
similar  compliment  were  paid  to  his  friend  and  com- 
mander, Lawrence. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  that  Clive  was  most  cor- 
dially welcomed  home  by  his  family,  who  were  de- 
lighted by  his  success,  though  they  seem  to  have  been 
hardly  able  to  comprehend  how  their  naughty  idle 
Bobby  had  become  so  great  a  man.  His  father  had 
been  singularly  hard  of  belief.  Not  until  the  news  of 
the  defence  of  Arcot  arrived  in  England  was  the  old 
gentleman  heard  to  growl  out  that,  after  all,  the  booby 
had  something  in  him.  His  expressions  of  approbation 
became  stronger  and  stronger  as  news  arrived  of  one 
brilliant  exploit  after  another ;  and  he  was  at  length 
immoderately  fond  and  proud  of  his  son. 

Olive's  relations  had  very  substantial  reasons  for 
rejoicing  at  his  return.  Considerable  sums  of  prize 
money  had  fallen  to  his  share  ;  and  he  had  brought 
home  a  moderate  fortune,  part  of  which  he  expended 
in  extricating  his  father  from  pecuniary  difficulties,  and 
in  redeeming  the  family  estate.  The  remainder  he 
appears  to  have  dissipated  in  the  course  of  about  two 
years.  He  lived  splendidly,  dressed  gaily  even  for 
those  times,  kept  a  carriage  and  saddle  horses,  and,  not 
content  with  these  ways  of  getting  rid  of  his  money, 
resorted  to  the  most  speedy  and  effectual  of  all  modes 
of  evacuation,  a  contested  election  followed  by  a  peti- 
tion. 

At  the  time  of  the  general  election  of  1754,  the  gov- 
ernment was  in  a  very  singular  state.  There  was 


226  LORD  CLIVE. 

scarcely  any  formal  opposition.  The  Jacobites  had 
been  cowed  by  the  issue  of  the  last  rebellion.  The 
Tory  party  had  fallen  into  utter  contempt.  It  had 
been  deserted  by  all  the  men  of  talents  who  had  be- 
longed to  it,  and  had  scarcely  given  a  symptom  of  life 
during  some  years.  The  small  faction  which  had  been 
held  together  by  the  influence  and  promises  of  Prince 
Frederic,  had  been  dispersed  by  his  death.  Almost 
every  public  man  of  distinguished  talents  in  the  king- 
dom, whatever  his  early  connections  might  have  been, 
was  in  office,  and  called  himself  a  Whig.  But  this 
extraordinary  appearance  of  concord  was  quite  delu- 
sive. The  administration  itself  was  distracted  by  bitter 
enmities  and  conflicting  pretensions.  The  chief  object 
of  its  members  was  to  depress  and  supplant  each  other. 
The  prime  minister,  Newcastle,  weak,  timid,  jealous, 
and  perfidious,  was  at  once  detested  and  despised  by 
some  of  the  most  important  members  of  his  government, 
and  by  none  more  than  by  Henry  Fox,  the  Secretaiy 
at  War.  This  able,  daring,  and  ambitious  man  seized 
every  opportunity  of  crossing  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Treasury,  from  whom  he  well  knew  that  he  had  little 
to  dread  and  little  to  hope  ;  for  Newcastle  was  through 
life  equally  afraid  of  breaking  with  men  of  parts  and  of 
promoting  them. 

Newcastle  had  set  his  heart  on  returning  two  mem- 
bers for  St.  Michael,  one  of  those  wretched  Cornish 
boroughs  which  were  swept  away  by  the  Reform  Act 
in  1832.  He  was  opposed  by  Lord  Sandwich,  whose 
influence  had  long  been  paramount  there  :  and  Fox 
exerted  himself  strenuously  in  Sandwich's  behalf. 
Olive,  who  had  been  introduced  to  Fox,  and  very 
kindly  received  by  him,  was  brought  forv  ard  on  the 
Sandwich  interest,  and  was  returned.  But  a  petition 


LORD  CLIVE.  227 

was  presented  against  the  return,  and  was  backed  by 
die  whole  influence  of  the.  Duke  of  Newcastle. 

The  case  was  heard,  according  to  the  usage  of  that 
time,  before  a  committee  of  the  whole  House.  Ques- 
tions respecting  elections  were  then  considered  merely 
as  party  questions.  Judicial  impartiality  was  not 
even  affected.  Sir  Robert  Walpole  was  in  the  habit 
of  sayr.ig  openly  that,  in  election  battles,  there  ought 
to  be  na  quarter.  On  the  present  occasion  the  excite- 
ment was  great.  The  matter  really  at  issue  was,  not 
whether  Clive  had  been  properly  or  improperly  re- 
turned, but  whether  Newcastle  or  Fox  was  to  be  master 
of  the  new  House  of  Commons,  and  consequently  first 
minister.  The  contest  was  long  and  obstinate,  and 
success  seemed  to  lean  sometimes  to  one  side  and  some- 
times to  the  other.  Fox  put  forth  all  his  rare  powers 
of  debate,  beat  half  the  lawyers  in  the  House  at  their 
own  weapons,  and  carried  division  after  division  against 
the  whole  influence  of  the  Treasury.  The  committee 
decided  in  Olive's  favour.  But  when  the  resolution 
was  reported  to  the  House,  things  took  a  different 
course.  The  remnant  of  the  Tory  Opposition,  con- 
temptible as  it  was,  had  yet  sufficient  weight  to  turn 
the  scale  between  the  nicely  balanced  parties  of  New- 
castle and  Fox.  Newcastle  the  Tories  could  only 
Jespise.  Fox  they  hated,  as  the  boldest  and  most 
subtle  politician  and  the  ablest  debater  among  the 
Whigs,  as  the  steady  friend  of  Walpole,  as  the  devoted 
adherent  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland.  After  waver- 
ing till  the  last  moment,  they  determined  to  vote  in  a 
body  with  the  Prime  Minister's  friends.  The  con- 
Bequence  was  that  the  House,  by  a  small  majority, 
rescinded  the  decision  of  the  committee,  and  Clive  \t  aa 
Unseated. 


228  LORD  OLIVE. 

Ejected  fiom  Parliament,  and  straitened  in  his  means, 
he  naturally  began  to  look  again  towaids  India.  The 
Company  and  the  Government  were  eager  to  avail 
themselves  of  his  services.  A  treaty  favourable  to 
England  had  indeed  been  concluded  in  the  Carnatic. 
Dupleix  had  been  superseded,  and  had  returned  with 
the  wreck  of  his  immense  fortune  to  Europe,  where 
calumny  and  chicanery  soon  hunted  him  to  his  grave. 
But  many  signs  indicated  that  a  war  between  France 
and  Great  Britain  was  at  hand  ;  and  it  was  therefore 
thought  desirable  to  send  an  able  commander  to  the 
Company's  settlements  in  India.  The  Directors  ap- 
pointed Clive  governor  of  Fort  St.  David.  The  King 
gave  him  the  commission  of  a  lieutenant-colonel  in 
the  British  army,  and  in  1755  he  again  sailed  for 
Asia. 

The  first  service  on  which  he  was  employed  after 
his  return  to  the  East  was  the  reduction  of  the  strong- 
hold of  Gheriah.  This  fortress,  built  on  a  craggy 
promontory,  and  almost  surrounded  by  the  ocean,  was 
the  den  of  a  pirate  named  Angria,  whose  barks  had 
long  been  the  terror  of  the  Arabian  Gulf.  Admiral 
Watson,  who  commanded  the  English  squadron  in 
the  Eastern  seas,  burned  Angria's  fleet,  while  Clive 
attacked  the  fastness  by  land.  The  place  soon  fell, 
and  a  booty  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds 
sterling  was  divided  among  the  conquerors. 

After  this  exnloit,  Clive  proceeded  to  his  govern- 
ment of  Fort  St.  David.  Before  he  had  been  there 
two  months,  he  received  intelligence  which  called  forth 
all  the  energy  of  his  bold  and  active  mind. 

Of  the  provinces  which  had  been  subject  to  the 
house  of  Tamerlane,  the  wealthiest  was  Bengal.  No 
part  of  India  possessed  such  natural  advantages  both 


LORD  CLIVE  229 

for  agriculture  and  for  commerce.  The  Ganges,  rush- 
ing through  a  hundred  channels  to  the  sea,  has  formed 
a  vast  plain  of  rich  mould  which,  even  under  the  tropi- 
cal sky,  rivals  the  verdure  of  an  English  April.  The 
rice  fields  yield  an  increase  such  as  is  elsewhere 
unknown.  Spices,  sugar,  vegetable  oils,  are  produced 
with  marvellous  exuberance.  The  rivers  afford  an 
inexhaustible  supply  of  fish.  The  desolate  islands 
along  the  sea-coast,  overgrown  by  noxious  vegetation, 
and  swarming  with  deer  and  tigers,  supply  the  cultt 
vated  districts  with  abundance  of  salt.  The  great 
stream  which  fertilises  the  soil  is,  at  the  same  time,  the 
chief  highway  of  Eastern  commerce.  On  its  banks, 
and  on  those  of  its  tributary  waters,  are  the  wealthiest 
marts,  the  most  splendid  capitals,  and  the  most  sacred 
shrines  of  India.  The  tyranny  of  man  had  for  ages 
struggled  in  vain  against  the  overflowing  bounty  of 
nature.  In  spite  of  the  Mussulman  despot  and  of  the 
Mahratta  freebooter,  Bengal  was  known  through  the 
East  as  the  garden  of  Eden,  as  the  rich  kingdom. 
Its  population  multiplied  exceedingly.  Distant  prov- 
inces were  nourished  from  the  overflowing  of  its 
granaries ;  and  the  noble  ladies  of  London  and  Paris 
were  clothed  in  the  delicate  produce  of  its  looms.  The 
race  by  whom  this  rich  tract  was  peopled,  enervated  by 
a  soft  climate  and  accustomed  to  peaceful  employments, 
bore  the  same  relation  to  other  Asiatics  which  the 
Asiatics  generally  bear  to  the  bold  and  energetic  chil- 
dren of  Europe.  The  Castilians  have  a  proverb,  that 
in  Valencia  the  earth  is  water  and  the  men  women  ; 
and  the  description  is  at  least  equally  applicable  to  the 
vast  plain  of  the  Lower  Ganges.  Whatever  the 
Bengalee  does  he  does  languidly.  His  favourite  pur- 
auits  are  sedentaiy.  He  shrinks  from  bodily  exertion 


230  LORD  CLIVE. 

and,  though  voluble  in  dispute,  and  singularly  perti 
nacious  in  the  war  of  chicane,  he  seldom  engages  in  a 
personal  conflict,  and  scarcely  ever  enlists  as  a  soldier. 
We  doubt  whether  there  be  a  hundred  genuine  Ben- 
galees in  the  whole  army  of  the  East  India  Company. 
There  never,  perhaps,  existed  a  people  so  thoroughly 
fitted  by  nature  and  by  habit  for  a  foreign  yoke. 

The  great  commercial  companies  of  Europe  had  long 
possessed  factories  in  Bengal.  The  French  were  set- 
tled, as  they  still  are,  at  Chandernagore  on  the  Hoog- 
ley.  Higher  up  the  stream  the  Dutch  traders  held 
Chinsurah.  Nearer  to  the  sea,  the'  English  had  built 
For£  William.  A  church  and  ample  warehouses  rose 
in  the  vicinity.  A  row  of  spacious  houses,  belonging 
to  the  chief  factors  of  the  East  India  Company,  lined 
the  banks  of  the  river  ;  and  in  the  neighbourhood  had 
sprung  up  a  large  and  busy  native  town,  where  some 
Hindoo  merchants  of  great  opulence  had  fixed  their 
abode.  But  the  tract  now  covered  by  the  palaces  of 
Chowringhee  contained  only  a  few  miserable  huts 
thatched  with  straw.  A  jungle,  abandoned  to  water- 
fowl and  alligators,  covered  the  site  of  the  present 
Citadel,  and  the  Course,- which  is  now  daily  crowded 
at  sunset  with  the  gayest  equipages  of  Calcutta.  For 
the  ground  on  which  the  settlement  stood,  the  English, 
like  other  great  landholders,  paid  rent  to  the  govern- 
ment ;  and  they  were,  like  other  great  landholders, 
permitted  to  exercise  a  certain  jurisdiction  within  their 
domain. 

The  great  province  of  Bengal,  together  with  Orissa 
and  Bahar,  had  long  been  governed  Igf  a  viceroy, 
whom  the  English  called  Aliverdy  Khan,  and  who, 
like  the  other  viceroys  of  the  Mogul,  had  become 
rirtually  independent  He  died  in  1756,  and  the 


LORD  CLIVE.  231 

sovereignty  descended  to  his  grandson,  a  youth  undei 
twenty  years  of  age,  who  bore  the  name  of  Surajah 
Dowlah.  Oriental  despots  are  perhaps  the  worst  class 
of  human  beings ;  and  this  unhappy  boy  was  one 
of  the  worst  specimens  of  his  class.  His  understand- 
*r.g  was  naturally  feeble,  and  his  temper  naturally 
unamiable.  His  education  had  been  such  as  would 
have  enervated  even  a  vigorous  intellect,  and  perverted 
even  a  generous  disposition.  He  was  unreasonable, 
because  nobody  ever  dared  to  reason  with  him,  and 
selfish,  because  he  had  never  been  made  to  feel  himself 
dependent  on  the  good  will  of  others.  Early  debauch- 
ery had  unnerved  his  body  and  his  mind.  He  in- 
dulged immoderately  in  the  use  of  ardent  spirits,  which 
inflamed  his  weak  brain  almost  to  madness.  His 
chosen  companions  were  flatterers  sprung  from  the 
dregs  of  the  people,  and  recommended  by  nothing  but 
buffoonery  and  servility.  It  is  said  that  he  had  arrived 
at  that  last  stage  of  human  depravity,  when  cruelty 
becomes  pleasing  for  its  own  sake,  when  the  sight  of 
pain  as  pain,  where  no  advantage  is  to  be  gained,  no 
offence  punished,  no  danger  averted,  is  an  agreeable 
excitement.  It  had  early  been  his  amusement  to 
torture  beasts  and  birds  ;  and,  when  he  grew  up,  he 
enjoyed  with  still  keener  relish  the  misery  of  his  fellow- 
creatures. 

From  a  child  Surajah  Dowlah  had  hated  the  Eng- 
lish. It  was  his  whim  to  do  so  ;  and  his  whims  were 
never  opposed.  He  had  also  formed  a  very  exaggerated 
notion  of  the  wealth  which  might  be  obtained  by  plun- 
dering them  ;  and  his  feeble  and  uncultivated  mind  was 
incapable  of  perceiving  that  the  riches  of  Calcutta,  had 
Uiey  been  even  greater  than  he  imagined,  would  not 
;omp<?nsate  him  for  what  he  must  lose,  if  the  European 


232  LORD  CLIVE. 

trade,  of  which  Bengal  was  a  chief  seat,  should  be 
driven  by  his  violence  to  some  other  quarter.  Pretexts 
for  a  quarrel  were  readily  found.  The  English,  in  ex- 
pectation of  a  war  with  France,  had  begun  to  fortify 
theu;  settlement  without  special  permission  from  the 
Nabob.  A  rich  native,  whom  he  longed  to  plunder, 
had  taken  refuge  at  Calcutta,  and  had  not  been  deliv- 
ered up.  On  such  grounds  as  these  Surajah  Dowlah 
marched  with  a  great  army  against  Fort  William. 

The  servants  of  the  Company  at  Madras  had  been 
forced  by  Dupleix  to  become  statesmen  and  soldiers. 
Those  in  Bengal  were  still  mere  traders,  and  were  ter- 
rified and  bewildered  by  the  approaching  danger.  The 
governor,  who  had  heard  much  of  Surajah  Dowlah's 
cruelty,  was  frightened  out  of  his  wits,  jumped  into  a 
boat,  and  took  refuge  in  the  nearest  ship.  The  mili- 
tary commandant  thought  that  he  could  not  do  better 
than  follow  so  gsod  an  example.  The  fort  was  taken 
after  a  feeble  resistance  ;  and  great  numbers  of  the 
English  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  conquerors.  The 
Nabob  seated  himself  with  regal  pomp  in  the  principal 
hall  of  the  factory,  and  ordered  Mr.  II ol well,  the  first 
in  rank  among  the  prisoners,  to  be  brought  before  liim. 
His  Highness  talked  about  the  insolence  of  the  English, 
and  grumbled  at  the  smallness  of  the  treasure  which  he 
had  found  ;  but  promised  to  spare  their  lives,  and  re- 
tired to  rest. 

Then  was  committed  that  great  crime,  memorable  for 
its  singular  atrocity,  memorable  for  the  tremendous  ret- 
ribution by  which  it  was  followed.  The  English  cap- 
tives were  left  at  the  mercy  of  the  guards,  and  the 
guards  determined  to  secure  them  for  the  night  in  the 
prison  >f  the  garrison,  a  chamber  known  by  the  fearful 
•iame  of  the  Black  Hole.  Even  for  a  single  European 


LORD  CLIVE.  233 

malefactor,  that  dungeon  would,  in  such  a  climate,  have 
oeen  too  close  and  narrow.  The  space  was  only  twenty 
feet  square.  The  air-holes  were  small  and  obstructed. 
Ft  was  the  summer  solstice,  the  season  when  the  fierce 
heat  of  Bengal  can  scarcely  be  rendered  tolerable  to 
natives  of  England  by  lofty  halls  and  by  the  constant 
waving  of  fans.  The  number  of  the  prisoners  was  one 
hundred  and  forty-six.  Whe»  they  were  ordered  to 
enter  the  cell,  they  imagined  that  the  soldiers  were 
joking ;  and,  being  in  high  spirits  on  account  of  the 
promise  of  the  Nabob  to  spare  their  lives,  they  laughed 
and  jested  at  the  absurdity  of  the  notioii.  They  soon 
discovered  their  mistake.  They  expostulated ;  they 
entreated  ;  but  in  vain.  The  guards  threatened  to  cut 
down  all  who  hesitated.  The  captives  were  driven  into 
the  cell  at  the  point  of  the  sword,  and  the  door  was  in- 
stantly shut  and  locked  upon  them. 

Nothing  in  history  or  fiction,  not  even  the  story 
which  Ugolino  told  in  the  sea  of  everlasting  ice,  after 
he  had  wiped  his  bloody  lips  on  the  scalp  of  his  mur- 
derer, approaches  the  horrors  which  were  recounted  by 
the  few  survivors  of  that  night.  They  cried  for  mercy. 
They  strove  to  burst  the  door.  Holwell  who,  even  in 
that  extremity,  retained  some  presence  of  mind,  offered 
large  bribes  to  the  gaolers.  But  the  answer  was  that 
nothing  could  be  done  without  the  Nabob's  orders,  that 
the  Nabob  was  asleep,  and  that  he  would  be  angry  if 
anybody  woke  him.  Then  the  prisoners  went  mad 
with  despair.  They  trampled  each  other  down,  fought 
for  the  places  at  the  windows,  fought  for  the  pittance 
of  \vater  with  whicn  the  cruel  mercy  of  the  murderers 
mocked  their  agonies,  raved,  prayed,  blasphemed,  im- 
plored the  guards  to  fire  among  them.  The  gaolers  in 
the  mean  time  held  lights  to  the  bars,  and  shouted  with 


234  LORD  CLIVE. 

lauglitcr  at  the  frantic  struggles  of  their  victims.  At 
length  the  tumult  died  away  in  low  gaspings  and  moan- 
ings.  The  day  broke.  The  Nabob  had  slept  off  liis 
debauch,  and  permitted  the  door  to  be  opened.  But  it 
was  some  time  before  the  soldiers  could  make  a  lane 
for  the  survivors,  by  piling  up  on  each  side  the  heaps 
of  corpses  on  which  the  burning  climate  had  already 
begun  to  do  its  loathsome  work.  When  at  length  a 
passage  was  made,  twenty-three  ghastly  figures,  such 
as  their  own  mothers  would  not  have  known,  staggered 
ono  by  one  out  of  the  charnel-house.  A  pit  was  in- 
stantly dug.  The  dead  bodies,  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  in  number,  were  flung  into  it  promiscuously  and 
covered  up. 

But  these  things  which,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than 
eighty  years,  cannot  be  told  or  read  without  horror, 
awakened  neither  remorse  nor  pity  in  the  bosom  of  the 
savage  Nabob.  He  inflicted  no  punishment  on  the 
murderers.  He  showed  no  tenderness  to  the  survivors. 
Some  of  them,  indeed,  from  whom  nothing  was  to  be 
got,  were  suffered  to  depart ;  but  those  from  whom  it 
was  thought  that  any  thing  could  be  extorted  were 
treated  with  execrable  cruelty.  Holwell,  unable  to 
walk,  was  carried  before  the  tyrant,  who  reproached 
him,  threatened  him,  and  sent  him  up  the  country  in 
irons,  together  with  some  other  gentlemen  who  were 
suspected  of  knowing  more  than  they  chose  to  tell  about 
the  treasures  of  the  Company.  These  persons,  still 
foowed  down  by  the  sufferings  of  that  great  agony,  were 
lodged  in  miserable  sheds,  and  fed  only  with  grain  and 
water,  till  at  length  the  intercessions  of  the  female  rela- 
tions of  the  Nabob  procured  their  release.  One  Eng- 
'ishwoman  had  survived  that  night.  She  was  placed  us 
tlio  harem  of  the  Prince  at  Moorshedabad. 


LORD  CLIVE.  235 

Surajali  Dowlah,  in  the  mean  time,  sent  letters  to  hig 
nominal  sovereign  at  Delhi,  describing  the  late  conquest 
in  the  most  pompous  language.  He  placed  a  garrison 
in  Fort  William,  forbade  Englishmen  to  dwell  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  directed  that,  in  memory  of  his 
great  actions,  Calcutta  should  thenceforward  be  called 
Alinagore,  that  is  to  say,  the  Port  of  God. 

In  August  the  news  of  the  fall  of  Calcutta  reached 
Madras,  and  excited  the  fiercest  and  bitterest  resent- 
ment. The  cry  of  the  whole  settlement  was  for  ven- 
geance. Within  forty-eight  hours  after  the  arrival  of 
the  intelligence  it  was  determined  that  an  expedition 
should  be  sent  to  the  Hoogley,  and  that  Clive  should  be 
at  the  head  of  the  land  forces.  The  naval  armament 
was  under  the  command  of  Admiral  Watson.  Nine 
hundred  English  infantry,  fine  troops  and  full  of  -spirit, 
and  fifteen  hundred  sepoys,  composed  the  army  which 
sailed  to  punish  a  Prince  who  had  more  subjects  than 
Lewis  the  Fifteenth  or  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa. 
In  October  the  expedition  sailed ;  but  it  had  to  make 
its  way  against  adverse  winds,  and  did  not  reach  Bengal 
till  December. 

The  Nabob  was  revelling  in  fancied  security  at  Moor- 
shedabad.  He  was  so  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  state 
of  foreign  countries  that  he  often  used  to  say  that 
there  were  not  ten.  thousand  men  in  all  Europe ;  and 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  as  possible,  that  the  Eng- 
lish would  dare  to  invade  his  dominions.  But,  though 
unclistiirbed  by  any  fear  of  their  military  power,  he 
began  to  miss  them  greatly.  His  revenues  fell  off; 
and  his  ministers  succeeded  in  making  him  understand 
that  a  ruler  may  sometimes  find  it  more  profitable  tc 
protect  traders  in  the  open  enjoyment  of  their  gains 
than  to  put  them  to  the  torture  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 


236  LOED  CLIVE. 

covering  hidden  chests  of  gold  and  jewels.  He  was 
already  disposed  to  permit  the  Company  to  resume 
its  mercantile  operations  in  his  country,  when  he  re- 
ceived the  news  that  an  English  armament  was  in  the 
Iloogley.  He  instantly  ordered  all  his  troops  to  as- 
semble at  Moorshedabad,  and  marched  towards  Cal- 
cutta. 

CHve  had  commenced  operations  with  his  usual  vig- 
our. He  took  Budgebudge,  routed  the  garrison  of 
Fort  William,  recovered  Calcutta,  stormed  and  sacked 
Hoogley.  The  Nabob,  already  disposed  to  make  some 
concessions  to  the  English,  was  confirmed  in  his  pacific 
disposition  by  these  proofs  of  their  power  and  spirit. 
He  accordingly  made  overtures  to  the  chiefs  of  the 
invading  armament,  and  offered  to  restore  the  factory, 
and  to  give  compensation  to  those  whom  he  had 
despoiled. 

Clive's  profession  was  war ;  and  he  felt  that  there 
was  something  discreditable  in  an  accommodation  with 
Surajah  Dowlah.  But  his  power  was  limited.  A  com- 
mittee, chiefly  composed  of  servants  of  the  Company 
who  had  fled  from  Calcutta,  had  the  principal  direction 
of  affairs  ;  and  these  persons  were  eager  to  be  restored 
to  their  posts  and  compensated  for  their  losses.  The 
government  of  Madras,  apprised  that  war  had  com- 
menced in  Europe,  and  apprehensive  of  an  attack  from 
the  French,  became  impatient  for  the  return  of  the 
armament.  The  promises  of  the  Nabob  were  large, 
the  chances  of  a  contest  doubtful ;  and  Clive  consented 
to  treat,  though  he  expressed  his  regret  that  things 
should  not  be  concluded  in  so  glorious  a  manner  us  he 
2ould  have  wished. 

With  this  negotiation  commences  a  new  chapter  in 
the  life  of  Clive.  Hitherto  he  had  been  merely  a 


LORD  CLIVE.  237 

soldier  carrying  into  effect,  with  eminent  ability  and 
valour,  tlie  plans  of  others.  Henceforth  he  is  to  be 
chiefly  regarded  as  a  statesman  ;  and  his  military  move- 
ments are  to  be  considered  as  subordinate  to  his  political 
designs.  That  in  his  new  capacity  he  displayed  great 
ability,  and  obtained  great  success,  is  unquestionable. 
But  it  is  also  unquestionable  that  the  transactions  in 
which  he  now  began  to  take  a  part  have  left  a  stain  on 
his  moral  character. 

We  can  by  110  means  agree  with  Sir  John  Malcolm, 
who  is  obstinately  resolved  to  seo  nothing  but  honour 
and  integrity  in  the  conduct  of  his  hero.  But  we  can 
as  little  agree  with  Mr.  Mill,  who  has  gone  so  far  as  to 
say  that  Clive  was  a  man  "  to  whom  deception,  when 
it  suited  his  purpose,  never  cost  a  pang."  Clive  seems 
to  us  to  have  been  constitutionally  the  very  opposite  of 
a  knave,  bold  even  to  temerity,  sincere  even  to  indis- 
cretion, hearty  in  friendship,  open  in  enmity.  Neither 
m  his  private  life,  nor  in  those  parts  of  his  public  life 
in  which  he  had  to  do  with  his  countrymen,  do  we  find 
any  signs  of  a  propensity  to"  cunning.  On  the  con- 
trary, in  all  the  disputes  in  which  he  was  engaged  as 
an  Englishman  against  Englishmen,  from  his  boxing- 
matches  at  school  to  those  stormy  altercations  at  the 
India  House  and  in  Parliament  amidst  which  his  latei 
years  were  passed,  his  very  faults  were  those  of  a  high 
and  magnanimous  spirit.  The  truth  seems  to  have 
been  that  he  considered  Oriental  politics  as  a  game  in 
which  nothing  was  unfair.  He  knew  that  the  standard 
of  morality  among  the  natives  of  India  differed  widoly 
from  that  established  in  England.  He  knew  that  he 
hud  to  deal  with  men  destitute  of  what  in  Europe  is 
caned  honour,  with  men  who  would  give  any  promise 
without  hesitation,  and  break  any  promise  without 


2S8  LORD  CLIVE. 

shame,  with  men  who  would  unscrupulously  employ 
corruption,  perjury,  forgery,  to  compass  their  ends. 
His  letters  show  that  the  great  difference  between 
Asiatic  and  European  morality  was  constantly  in  his 
thoughts.  He  seems  to  have  imagined,  most  erro- 
neously in  our  opinion,  that  he  could  effect  nothing 
against  such  adversaries,  if  he  was  content  to  be  bound 
by  ties  from  which  they  were  free,  if  lie  went  on  telling 
truth,  and  hearing  none,  if  he  fulfilled,  to  his  own  hurt, 
all  his  engagements  with  confederates  who  never  kept 
an  engagement  that  was  not  to  their  advantage.  Ac- 
cordingly this  man,  in  the  other  parts  of  his  life  an 
honourable  English  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  was  no 
sooner  matched  against  an  Indian  intriguer,  than  he 
became  himself  an  Indian  intriguer,  and  descended, 
without  scruple,  to  falsehood,  to  hypocritical  caresses, 
to  the  substitution  of  documents,  and  to  the  counter- 
feiting of  hands. 

The  negotiations  between  the  English  and  the  Nabob 
were  carried  on  chiefly  by  two  agents,  Mr.  Watts,  a 
servant  of  the  Company,  and  a  Bengalee  of  the  name 
of  Omichund.  This  Omichund  had  been  one  of  the 
wealthiest  native  merchants  resident  at  Calcutta,  and 
had  sustained  great  losses  in  consequence  of  the  Nabob's 
expedition  against  that  place.  In  the  course  of  his 
commercial  transactions,  he  had  seen  much  of  the  Eng- 
lish, and  was  peculiarly  qualified  to  serve  as  a  medium 
of  communication  between  them  and  a  native  court. 
He  possessed  great  influence  with  his  own  race,  and  had 
in  large  measure  the  Hindoo  talents,  quick  observation, 
tact,  dexterity,  perseverance,  and  the  Hindoo  vices,  ser- 
vility, greediness,  and  treachery. 

The  Nabob  behaved  with  all  the  faithlessness  of  an 
Indian  statesman,  and  with  all  the  levity  of  a  boy  whose 


LORD  CLIVE.  289 

mind  had  been  enfeebled  by  power  and  self-indulgence. 
He  promised,  retracted,  hesitated,  evaded.  At  one 
time  he  advanced  with  his  army  in  a  threatening  man- 
ner towards  Calcutta  ;  but  when  he  saw  the  resolute 
front  which  the  English  presented,  he  fell  back  in  alarm, 
and  consented  to  make  peace  with  them  on  their  own 
terms.  The  treaty  was  no  sooner  concluded  than  he 
formed  new  designs  against  them.  He  intrigued  with 
the  French  authorities  at  Chandernagore.  He  invited 
Bussy  to  march  from  the  Deccan  to  the  Hoogley,  and 
to  drive  the  English  out  of  Bengal.  All  this  was  well 
known  to  Olive  and  Watson.  They  determined  ac- 
cordingly to  strike  a  decisive  blow,  and  to  attack  Chan- 
dernagore,  before  the  force  there  could  be  strengthened 

O  *  C? 

by  new  arrivals,  either  from  the  south  of  India,  or  from 
Europe.  Watson  directed  the  expedition  by  water, 
Clive  by  land.  The  success  of  the  combined  move- 
ments was  rapid  and  complete.  The  fort,  the  garrison, 
the  artillery,  the  military  stores,  all  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  English.  Near  five  hundred  European  troops 
were  among  the  prisoners. 

The  Nabob  had  feared  and  hated  the  English,  even 
while  he  was  still  able  to  oppose  to  them  their  French 
rivals.  The  French  were  now  vanquished  ;  and  he 
beo-an  to  regard  the  English  with  still  greater  fear  and 

f  O  .  O  O 

'  still  greater  hatred.  His  weak  and  unprincipled  mind 
oscillated  between  servility  and  insolence.  One  day  he 
sent  a  large  sum  to  Calcutta,  as  part  of  the  compensa- 
tion due  for  the  wrongs  which  he  had  committed.  The 
next  day  he  sent  a  present  of  jewels  to  Bussy,  exhort- 
ing that  distinguished  officer  to  hasten  to  protect  Bengal 
"  against  Clive,  the  daring  in  war,  on  whom,"  says  his 
Highness,  "  may  all  bad  fortune  attend."  He  ordered 

O  «* 

lis  txrn.y  to  march  against  the  English.     He  counter- 


210  *    LORD  CLIVE. 

manJed  his  orders.  He  tore  Olive's  letters.  He  then 
Rent  answers  in  the  most  florid  language  of  compliment. 
He  ordered  Watts  out  of  his  presence,  and  threatened 
to  impale  him.  He  again  sent  for  Watts,  and  begged 
pardon  for  the  insult.  In  the  mean  time,  his  wretched 
maladministration,  his  folly,  his  dissolute  manners,  and 
his  love  of  the  lowest  company,  had  disgusted  all  classes 
of  his  subjects,  soldiers,  traders,  civil  functionaries,  the 
proud  and  ostentatious  Mahommedans,  the  timid,  sup- 
ple, and  parsimonious  Hindoos.  A  formidable  confed- 
eracy was  formed  against  him,  in  which  were  ^ncluded 
lloydullub,  the  minister  of  finance,  Mcer  Jaffier,  the 
principal  commander  of  the  troops,  and  Juggct  Seit, 
the  richest  banker  in  India.  The  plot  was  confided  to 
the  English  agents,  and  a  communication  was  opened 
between  the  malcontents  at  Moorshedabad  and  the  com- 
mittee at  Calcutta. 

In  the  committee  there  was  much  hesitation ;  but 
Olive's  voice  was  given  in  favour  of  the  conspirators, 
and  his  vigour  ^and  firmness  bore  down  all  opposition. 
It  was  determined  that  the  English  should  lend  their 
powerful  assistance  to  depose  Surajah  Dowlah,  and  to 
place  Meer  Jaffier  on  the  throne  of  Bengal.  In  return, 
Meer  Jaffier  promised  ample  compensation  to  the  Com- 
pany and  its  servants,  and  a  liberal  donative  to  the 
army,  the  navy,  and  the  committee.  The  odious  vices 
of  Surajah  Dowlah,  the  wrongs  which  the  English  had 
suffered  at  his  hands,  the  dangers  to  which  our  trade 
must  have  been  exposed,  had  he  continued  to  reign,  ap- 
pear to  us  fully  to  justify  the  resolution  of  deposing  him. 
Uut  nothing  can  justify  the  dissimulation  which  Clive 
stooped  to  practise.  He  wrote  to  Surajah  Dcwlah  in 
terms  so  affectionate  that  they  for  a  time  lulled  that 
weak  prince  into  perfect  security.  The  same  courier 


LORD  CLIVE.  241 

«rho  carried  this  "  soothing  letter,"  as  Clive  calls  it,  to 
the  Nabob,  carried  to  Mr.  Watts  a  letter  in  the  follow- 
ing terms  :  "  Tell  Meer  Jaffier  to  fear  nothing.  I  will 
join  him  with  five  thousand  men  who  never  turned 
their  backs.  Assure  him  I  will  march  night  and  day  to 
his  assistance,  and  stand  by  him  as  long  as  I  have  a  man 
left." 

It  was  impossible  that  a  plot  which  had  so  many 
ramifications  should  long  remain  entirely  concealed. 
Enough  reached  the  ears  of  the  Nabob  to  arouse  his 
suspicions.  But  he  was  soon  quieted  by  the  fictions 
and  artifices  which  the  inventive  genius  of  Omichund 
produced  with  miraculous  readiness.  All  was  going 
well ;  the  plot  was  nearly  ripe ;  when  Clive  learned 
that  Omichund  was  likely  to  play  false.  The  artftil 
Bengalee  had  been  promised  a  liberal  compensation  for 
all  that  he  had  lost  at  Calcutta.  But  this  would  not 
satisfy  him.  His  services  had  been  great.  He  held  the 
thread  of  the  whole  intrigue.  By  one  word  breathed 
in  the  ear  of  Surajah  Dowlah,  he  could  undo  all  that  he 
had  done.  The  lives  of  Watts,  of  Meer  Jaffier,  of  all 
the  conspirators,  were  at  his  mercy  ;  and  he  determined 
lo  take  advantage  of  his  situation  and  to  make  his  own 
terms.  He  demanded  three  hundred  thousand  pounda 
sterling  as  the  price  of  his  secrecy  and  of  his  assistance. 
The  committee,  incensed  by  the  treachery  and  appalled 
by  the  danger,  knew  not  what  course  to  take.  But 
Clive  was  more  than  Omichund's  match  in  Cmichund's 
owi:  arts.  The  man,  he  said,  was  a  villain.  Any  arti- 
fice which  would  defeat  such  knavery  was  justifiable. 
The  best  course  would  be  to  promise  what  was  asked. 
Omichund  would  soon  be  at  their  mercy ;  and  then 
they  might  punish  him  by  withholding  from  him,  not 
wily  the  bribe  which  he  now  demanded,  but  also  tha 

VOL    IV.  11 


242  LORD  CLIVE. 

compensation  which  all  the  other  sufferers  of  Calcutta 
were  to  receive. 

His  advice  was  taken.  But  how  was  the  wary  and 
sagacious  Hindoo  to  be  deceived  ?  He  had  demanded 
that  an  article  touching  his  claims  should  be  inserted 
in  the  treaty  between  Meer  Jaffier  and  the  English,  and 
he  would  not  be  satisfied  unless  he  saw  it  with  his  own 
eyes.  Clive  had  an  expedient  ready.  Two  treaties 
were  drawn  up,  one  on  white  paper,  the  other  on  red, 
the  former  real,  the  latter  fictitious.  In  the  former 
Omichund's  name  was  not  mentioned  ;  the  latter,  which 
was  to  be  shown  to  him,  contained  a  stipulation  in  his 
favour. 

But  another  difficulty  arose.  Admiral  Watson  had 
scruples  about  signing  the  red  treaty.  Omichund's 
vimlance  and  acuteness  were  such  that  the  absence  of 

O 

so  important  a  name  would  probably  awaken  his  suspi- 
cions. But  Clive  was  not  a  man  to  do  any  thing  by 
halves.  We  almost  blush  to  write  it.  He  forged  Ad- 
miral Watson's  name. 

All  was  now  ready  for  action.  Mr.  Watts  fled 
secretly  from  Moorshedabad.  Clive  put  his  troops  in 
motion,  and  wrote  to  the  Nabob  in  a  tone  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  his  previous  letters.  He  set  forth 
all  the  wrongs  which  the  British  had  suffered,  offered 
to  Submit  the  points  in  dispute  to  the  arbitration  of 
Meer  Jaffier,  and  concluded  by  announcing  that,  as 
Jie  rains  were  about  to  set  in,  he  and  his  men  would  do 
themselves  the  honour  of  waiting  on  his  Highness  for 
ail  answer. 

Surajah  Dowlah  instantly  assembled  his  whole  force, 
and  marched  to  encounter  the  English.  It  had  been 
agreed  that  Meer  Jaffier  should  separate  himself  from 
the  Nabob,  and  carry  ov^  his  division  to  Clive.  But, 


LORD  CLIVE.  243 

as  the  decisive  moment  approached,  the  fears  of  the 
conspirator  overpowered  his  ambition.  Clive  had  ad- 
vanced to  Cossimbuzar ;  the  Nabob  lay  with  a  mighty 
power  a  few  miles  off  at  Plassey ;  and  still  Meer  Jaf- 
fier  delayed  to  fulfil  his  engagements,  and  returned  eva 
fiive  answers  to  the  earnest  remonstrances  of  the  English 
general. 

Clive  was  in  a  painfully  anxious  situation.  He  could 
place  no  confidence  in  the  sincerity  or  in  the  courage 
of  his  confederate  :  and  whatever  confidence  he  migh* 
place  in  his  own  military  talents,  and  in  the  valour  and 
discipline  of  his  troops,  it  was  no  light  thing  to  engage 
an  army  twenty  times  as  numerous  as  his  own.  Before 
him  lay  a  river  over  which  it  was  easy  to  advance,  but 
over  which,  if  things  went,  ill,  not  one  of  his  little  band 
would  ever  return.  On  this  occasion,  for  the  first  and 
for  the  last  time,  his  dauntless  spirit,  during  a  few  hours, 
shrank  from  the  fearful  responsibility  of  making  a  de- 
cision. He  called  a  council  of  war.  The  majority 
pronounced  against  fighting;  and  Clive  declared  his 
concurrence  with  the  majority.  Long  afterwards,  he 
said  that  he  had  never  called  but  one  council  of  war, 
and  that,  if  he  had  taken  the  advice  of  that  council,  the 
British  would  never  have  been  masters  of  Bengal.  But 
scarcely  had  the  meeting  broke  up  when  he  was  himself 
again.  He  retired  alone  under  the  shade  of  some  trees, 
and  passed  near  an  hour  there  in  thought.  He  came 
back  determined  to  put  every  thing  to  the  ha/ard,  and 
gave  orders  that  all  should  be  in  readiness  for  passing 
the  river  on  the  morrow. 

The  river  was  passed ;  and,  at  the  close  of  a  toil- 
some day's  march,  the  army,  long  after  sunset,  took 
up  its  quarters  in  a  grove  of  mango  trees  near  Plassey, 
within  a  mile  of  the  enemy.  Clive  was  unable  to 


244  LORD  CLIVE. 

sleep  ;  he  heard,  through  the  whole  night,  the  sound  of 
drums  and  cymbals  from  the  vast  camp  of  the  Nahob. 
It  is  not  strange  that  even  his  stout  heart  should  now 

O 

and  then  have  sunk,  when  he  reflected  against  what 

*  O 

odds,  and  for  what  a  prize,  he  was  in  a  few  hours  to 
contend. 

Nor  was  the  rest  of  Surajah  Dowlah  more  peaceful. 
His  mind,  at  once  weak  and  stormy,  was  distracted  by 
wild  and  horrible  apprehensions.  Appalled  by  the  great- 
ness and  nearness  of  the  crisis,  distrusting  his  captains, 
dreading  every  one  who  approached  him,  dreading 
to  be  left  alone,  he  sat  gloomily  in  his  tent,  haunted, 
a  Greek  poet  would  have  said,  by  the  furies  of  those 
who  had  cursed  him  with  their  last  breath  in  the  Black 
Hole. 

The  day  broke,  the  day  which  was  to  decide  the  fate 
of  India.  At  sunrise,  the  army  of  the  Nabob,  pouring 
througk  many  openings  of  the  camp,  began  to  move 
towards  the  grove  where  the  English  lay.  Forty  thou- 
sand infantry,  armed  with  firelocks,  pikes,  swords,  bows 
and  arrows,  covered  the  plain.  They  were  accompa- 
nied by  fifty  pieces  of  ordnance  of  the  largest  size,  each 
tugged  by  a  long  team  of  white  oxen,  and  each  pushed 
on  from  behind  by  an  elephant.  Some  smaller  guns, 
under  the  direction  of  a  few  French  auxiliaries,  were 
perhaps  more  formidable.  The  cavalry  were  fifteen 
thousand,  drawn,  not  from  the  effeminate  population  of 
Bengal,  but  from  the  bolder  race  which  inhabits  the 
northern  provinces ;  and  the  practised  eye  of  Clive  could 
perceive  that  both  the  men  and  the  horses  were  more 
powerful  than  those  of  the  Camatic.  The  force  which 
lie  had  to  oppose  to  this  great  multitude  consisted  of  only 
three  thousand  men.  But  of  these  nearly  a  thousand 
tfere  English  ;  and  all  were  led  by  English  officers,  and 


LORD  CLIVE.  245 

trained  in  the  English  discipline.  Conspicuoiis  in  the 
ranks  of  the  little  army  were  the  men  of  the  Thirty- 
Ninth  Regiment,  which  still  bears  on  its  colours,  amidst 
many  honourable  additions  won  under  Wellington  in 
Spain  and  Gascony,  the  name  of  Plassey,  and  the  proud 
motto,  Primus  in  Indis. 

The  battle  commenced  with  a  cannonade  in  which 
the  artillery  of  the  Nabob  did  scarcely  any  execution, 
while  the  few  field-pieces  of  the  English  produced 
great  effect.  Several  of  the  most  distinguished  officers 
in  Surajah  Dowlah's  service  fell.  Disorder  began  to 
spread  through  his  ranks.  His  own  terror  increased 
every  moment.  One  of  the  conspirators  urged  on  him 
the  expediency  of  retreating.  The  insidious  advice, 
agreeing  as  it  did  with  what  his  own  terrors  sug- 
gested, was  readily  received.  He  ordered  his  army 
to  fall  back,  and  this  order  decided  his  fate.  Clive 
snatched  the  moment,  and  ordered  his  troops  to  ad- 
vance. The  confused  and  dispirited  multitude  gave 
way  before  the  onset  of  disciplined  valour.  No  mob 
attacked  by  regular  soldiers  was  ever  more  com- 
pletely routed.  The  little  band  of  Frenchmen,  who 
alone  ventured  to  confront  the  English,  were  swept 
down  the  stream  of  fugitives.  In  an  hour  the  forces 
of  Surajah  Dowlah  were  dispersed,  never  to  reassem- 
ble. Only  five  hundred  of  the  vanquished  were  slain. 
But  their  camp,  their  guns,  their  baggage,  innumerable 
waggons,  innumerable  cattle,  remained  in  the  power  of 
the  conquerors.  With  the  loss  of  twenty-two  soldiers 
killed  and  fifty  wounded,  Clive  had  scattered  an  ami) 
of  near  sixty  thousand  men,  and  subdued  an  empire 
larger  and  more  populous  than  Great  Britain. 

Meer  Jaffier  had  given  no  assistance  to  the  English 
during  the  action.     But  as  soon  as  he  .saw  that  the 


246  LORD  CLIVE. 

fate  of  the  day  was  decided,  he  drew  off  his  division 
of  the  arm}-,  and,  when  the  battle  was  over,  sent  his 
congratulations  to  his  ally.  The  next  morning  he 
repaired  to  the  English  quarters,  not  a  little  uneasy  as 
to  the  reception  which  awaited  him  there.  lie  gave 
evident  signs  of  alarm  when  a  guard  was  drawn  out 
to  receive  him  with  the  honours  due  to  his  rank.  But 
his  apprehensions  were  speedily  removed.  Clive  came 
forward  to  meet  him,  embraced  him,  saluted  him  as 
Nabob  of  the  three  great  provinces  of  Bengal,  Bahar, 
and  Orissa,  listened  graciously  to  his  apologies,  and 
advised  liim  to  march  without  delay  to  Moorshe- 
dabad. 

Surajah  Dowlah  had  fled  from  the  field  of  battle 
with  all  the  speed  with  which  a  fleet  camel  could 
carry  him,  and  arrived  at  Moorshedabad  in  little  more 
than  twenty-four  hours.  There  he  called  his  coun- 
cillors round  him.  The  wisest  advised  him  to  put 
himself  into  the  hands  of  the  English,  from  whom 
lie  had  nothing  worse  to  fear  than  deposition  and 
confinement.  But  he  attributed  this  suggestion  to 
treachery.  Others  urged  him  to  try  the  chance  of 
war  again.  He  approved  the  advice,  and  issued  orders 
accordingly.  But  he  wanted  spirit  to  adhere  even 
sluring  one  day  to  a  manly  resolution.  He  learned 
that  Meer  Jaffier  had  arrived  ;  and  his  terrors  became 
insupportable.  Disguised  in  a  mean  dress,  with  a 
casket  of  jewels  in  his  hand,  he  let  himself  down  at 
night  from  a  window  of  his  palace,  and,  accompanied 
oy  only  two  attendants,  embarked  on  the  river  tor 
L'atna. 

In  a  few  days  Clive  arrived  at  Moorshedabad, 
escorted  by  two  hundred  English  soldiers  and  three 
Hundred,  sepoys.  For  his  residence  had  been  assipried 


LORD   CLIVE.  247 

B.  palace,  which  was  surrounded  by  a  garden  so  spa- 
cious that  all  the  troops  who  accompanied  him  could 
conveniently  encamp  within  it.  The  ceremony  of  the 
installation  of  Meer  Jaffier  was  instantly  performed. 
Clive  led  the  new  Nabob  to  the  seat  of  honour,  placed 
him  on  it,  presented  to  him,  after  the  immemorial 
fashion  of  the  East,  an  offering  of  gold,  and  then, 
turning  to  the  natives  who  filled  the  hall,  congratu- 
lated them  on  the  good  fortune  which  had  freed  them 
from  a  tyrant.  He  was  compelled  on  this  occasion  to 
use  the  services  of  an  interpreter ;  for  it  is  remark- 
able that,  long  as  he  resided  in  India,  intimately  ac- 
quainted as  he  was  with  Indian  politics  and  with 
the  Indian  character,  and  adored  as  he  was  by  liis 
Indian  soldiery,  he  never  learned  to  express  himself 
with  facility  in  any  Indian  language.  He  is  said  in- 
deed to  have  been  sometimes  under  the  necessity  of 
employing,  in  his  intercourse  with  natives  of  India,  the 
smattering  of  Portuguese  which  he  had  acquired  when 
a  lad,  in  Brazil. 

The  new  sovereign  was  now  called  upon  to  fulfil  the 
engagements  into  which  he  had  entered  with  his  allies. 
A  conference  was  held  at  the  house  of  Jugget  Seit,  the 
great  banker,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  necessary 
arrangements.  Omichund  came  thither,  fully  believing 
himself  to  stand  high  in  the  favour  of  Clive,  who,  with 
dissimulation  surpassing  even  the  dissimulation  of  Ben- 
gal, had  up  to  that  day  treated  him  with  undiminished 
kindness.  The  white  treaty  was  produced  and  read. 
Clive  then  turned  to  Mr.  Scrafton,  one  of  the  servants 
of  the  Company,  and  said  in  English,  "  It  is  now  time 
to  undeceive  Omichund.'  "Omichund,"  said  Mr. 
Scrafton  in  Hindostanee,  "the  red  treaty  is  a  trick. 
Vou  are  to  have  nothing."  Omichund  fell  back  in 


£48  LOED  OLIVE. 

to  the  arms  of  his  attendants.  He  revived ;  but  hia 
mind  was  irreparably  ruined.  Clive,  who,  though 
little  troubled  by  scruples  of  conscience  in  his  deal- 
ings with  Indian  politicians,  was  not  inhuman,  seems  to 
have  been  touched.  He  saw  Omichund  a  few  days 
later,  spoke  to  him  kindly,  advised  him  to  make  a  pil- 
grimage to  one  of  the  great  temples  of  India,  in  the 
hope  that  change  of  scene  might  restore  his  health,  and 
was  even  disposed,  notwithstanding  all  that  had  passed, 
again  to  employ  him  in  the  public  service.  But  from 
the  moment  of  that  sudden  shock,  the  unhappy  man 
sank  gradually  into  idiocy.  He  who  had  formerly 
been  distinguished  for  the  strength  of  his  understand- 
ing and  the  simplicity  of  his  habits,  now  squandered 
the  remains  of  his  fortune  on  childish  trinkets,  and 
loved  to  exhibit  himself  dressed  in  rich  garments,  and 
hung  with  precious  stones.  In  this  abject  state  he  lan- 
guished a  few  months,  and  then  died. 

We  should  not  think  it  necessary  to  offer  any  re- 
marks for  the  purpose  of  directing  the  judgment  of  our 
readers,  with  respect  to  tins  transaction,  had  not  Sir 
John  Malcolm  undertaken  to  defend  it  in  all  its  parts. 
He  regrets,  indeed,  that  it  was  necessary  to  employ 
means  so  liable  to  abuse  as  forgery ;  but  he  will  not  ad- 
mit that  any  blame  attaches  to  those  who  deceived  the 
deceiver.  Pie  thinks  that  the  Englisii  were  not  bound 
to  keep  faith  with  one  who  kept  no  faith  with  them,  and 
that,  if  they  had  fulfilled  their  engagements  with  the 
wily  Bengalee,  so  signal  an  example  of  successful  trea- 
son would  have  produced  a  crowd  of  imitators.  Now, 
we  will  not  discuss  this  point  on  any  rigid  principles  of 
morality.  Indeed,  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  do  so :  for, 
ooking  at  the  question  as  a  question  of  expediency  in 
tke  lowest  sense  of  the  word,  and  using  no  arguments 


LORD  CLIVE.  249 

out  such  as  Machiavelli  might  have  employed  in  his 
conferences  with  Borgia,  we  are  convinced  that  Clive 
was  altogether  in  the  wrong,  and  that  he  committed,  not 
merely  a  crime,  but  a  blunder.  That  honesty  is  the 
best  policy  is  a  maxim  which  we  firmly  believe  to  be 
generally  correct,  even  with  respect  to  the  temporal 
interests  of  individuals  ;  but  with  respect  to  societies, 
the  rule  is  subject  to  still  fewer  exceptions,  and  that  for 
this  reason,  that  the  life  of  societies  is  longer  than  the 
life  of  individuals.  It  is  possible  to  mention  men  who 
have  owed  great  worldly  prosperity  to  breaches  of 
private  faith  ;  but  we  doubt  whether  it  be  possible  to 
mention  a  state  which  has  on  the  whole  been  a  gainer 
by  a  breach  of  public  faith.  The  entire  history  of 
British  India  is  an  illustration  of  the  great  truth,  that 
it  is  not  prudent  to  oppose  perfidy  to  perfidy,  and  that 
the  most  efficient  weapon  with  which  men  can  encoun- 
ter falsehood  is  truth.  During  a  long  course-  of  years, 
the  English  rulers  of  India,  surrounded  by  allies  and 
enemies  whom  no  engagement  could  bind,  have  gener- 
ally acted  with  sincerity  and  uprightness ;  and  the 
event  has  proved  that  sincerity  and  uprightness  are 
wisdom.  English  valour  and  English  intelligence  have 
done  less  to  extend  and  to  preserve  our  Oriental  em- 
pire than  English  veracity.  All  that  we  could  have 
gained  by  imitating  the  doublings,  the  evasions,  the 
fictions,  the  perjuries  which  have  been  employed  agaimt 
us  is  as  nothing,  when  compared  with  what  we  have 
gained  by  being  the  one  power  in  India  on  whose  word 
reliance  can  be  placed.  No  oath  which  superstition 
can  devise,  no  hostage  however  precious,  inspires  s 
hundredth  part  of  the  confidence  which  is  produced  by 
Jie  "  yea,  yea,"  and  "  nay,  nay."  of  a  British  envoy, 
No  fastness,  however  strong  by  art  or  nature,  gives  ti 


250  LORD   CLIVE. 

its  inmates  a  security  like  that  enjoyed  by  the  chief 
who,  passing  through  the  territories  of  powerful  and 
deadly  enemies,  is  armed  with  the  British  guarantee. 
The  mightiest  princes  of  the  East  can  scarcely,  by  the 
offer  of  enormous  usury,  draw  forth  any  portion  of  the 
wealth  which  is  concealed  under  the  hearths  of  their 
subjects.  The  British  Government  offers  little  more 
than  four  per  cent. ;  and  avarice  hastens  to  bring  forth 
tens  of  millions  of  rupees  from  its  most  secret  reposito- 
ries. A  hostile  monarch  may  promise  mountains  of 
gold  to  our  sepoys,  on  condition  that  they  will  desert 
the  standard  of  the  Company.  The  Company  promises 
only  a  moderate  pension  after  a  long  service.  But 
every  sepoy  knows  that  the  promise  of  the  Company 
will  be  kept :  he  knows  that  if  he  lives  a  hundred  years 
his  rice  and  salt  are  as  secure  as  the  salary  of  the  Gov- 
ernor-General :  and  he  knows  that  there  is  not  another 
state  in  India  which  would  not,  in  spite  of  the  most 
solemn  vows,  leave  him  to  die  of  hunger  in  a  ditch  as 
soon  as  he  had  ceased  to  be  useful.  The  greatest 
advantage  which  a  government  can  possess  is  to  be  the 
one  trustworthy  government  in  the  midst  of  govern- 
ments which  nobody  can  trust.  This  advantage  we 
enjoy  in  Asia.  Had  we  acted  during  the  last  two 
generations  on  the  principles  which  Sir  John  Malcolm 
appears  to  have  considered  as  sound,  had  we  as  often  as 
we  had  to  deal  with  people  like  Omichund,  retaliated 
by  lying  and  forging,  and  breaking  faith,  after  their 
fashion,  it  is  our  firm  belief  that  no  courage  or  ca- 
pacity could  have  upheld  our  empire. 

Sir  John  Malcolm  admits  that  dive's  breach  of  faith 
could  be  justified  only  by  the  strongest  necessity.  Ag 
we  think  that  breach  of  faith  not  only  unnecessary,  but 
most  inexpedient,  we  need  hardly  say  that  we  alto- 
gether condemn  it. 


LORD  CLIVE.  251 

Omichund  was  not  the  only  victim  of  the  revolution. 
Surajah  Dowlah  was  taken  a  few  days  after  his  flight, 
and  was  brought  before  Meer  Jaffier.  There  he  flung 
himself  on  the  ground  in  convulsions  of  fear,  and  with 
tears 'and  loud  cries  implored  the  mercy  which  he  had 
never  shown.  Meer  Jaffier  hesitated ;  but  his  son 
Meeran,  a  youth  of  seventeen,  who  in  feebleness  of 
brain  and  savageness  of  nature  greatly  resembled  the 
wretched  captive,  was  implacable.  Surajah  Dowlah 
was  led  into  a  secret  chamber,  to  which  in  a  short  time 
the  ministers  of  death  were  sent.  In  this  act  the 
English  bore  no  part ;  and  Meer  Jaffier  understood  so 
much  of  their  feelings,  that  he  thought  it  necessary  to 
apologize  to  them  for  having  avenged  them  on  their 
most  malignant  enemy. 

The  shower  of  wealth  now  fell  copiously  on  the 
Company  and  its  servants.  A  sum  of  eight  hundred 
thousand  pounds  sterling,  in  coined  silver,  was  sen* 
down  the  river  from  Moorshedabad  to  Fort  William. 
The  fleet  which  conveyed  this  treasure  consisted  of 
more  than  a  hundred  boats,  and  performed  its  triumphal 
voyage  with  flags  flying  and  music  playing.  Calcutta, 
which  a  few  months  before  had  been  desolate,  was  now 
more  prosperous  than  ever.  Trade  revived  ;  and  thf 
signs  of  affluence  appeared  in  every  English  house. 
As  to  Clive,  there  was  no  limit  to  his  acquisitions  but 
his  own  moderation.  The  treasury  of  Bengal  wa3 
thrown  open  to  him.  There  were  piled  up,  after  the 
usage  of  Indian  princes,  immense  masses  of  coin,  among 
which  might  not  seldom  be  detected  the  florins  and 
byzants  with  which,  before  any  European  ship  had 
\urned  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  the  Venetians  pur- 
^nased  the  stufts  and  spices  of  the  East.  Clive  walked 
Between  heaps  of  gold  and  silver,  crowned  with  rubiea 


252  LORD  CLIVE. 

and  diamonds,  and  was  at  liberty  to  help  himself.  He 
accepted  between  two  and  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds. 

The  pecuniary  transactions  between  Meer  Jaffier 
and  Clive  were  sixteen  years  later  condemned  by  the 
public  voice,  and  severely  criticised  in  Parliament, 
They  are  vehemently  defended  by  Sir  John  Malcolm. 
The  accusers  of  the  victorious  general  represented  his 
gains  as  the  wages  of  corruption,  or  as  plunder  extorted 
at  the  point  of  the  sword  from  a  helpless  ally.  The 
biographer,  on  the  other  hand,  considers  these  great 
acquisitions  as  free  gifts,  honourable  alike  to  the  donor 
and  to  the  receiver,  and  compares  them  to  the  rewards 
bestowed  by  foreign  powers  on  Marlborough,  on  Nel- 
son, and  on  Wellington.  It  had  always,  he  says,  been 
customary  in  the  East  to  give  and  receive  presents  ; 
and  there  was,  as  yet,  no  Act  of  Parliament  positively 
prohibiting  English  functionaries  in  India  from  profit- 
ing by  this  Asiatic  usage.  This  reasoning,  we  own, 
does  not  quite  satisfy  us.  We  do  not  suspect  Clive  of 
Belling  the  interests  of  his  employers  or  his  country  ; 
but  we  cannot  acquit  him  of  having  done  what,  if  not 
in  itself  evil,  was  yet  of  evil  example.  Nothing  is  more 
clear  than  that  a  general  ought  to  be  the  servant  of  his 
own  government,  and  of  no  other.  It  follows  that 
whatever  rewards  he  receives  for  his  services  ought  to 
be  given  either  by  his  own  government,  or  with  the 
full  knowledge  and  approbation  of  his  own  government. 
This  rule  ought  to  be  strictly  maintained  even  with 
respect  to  the  merest  bauble,  with  respect  to  a  cross,  a 
medal,  or  a  yard  of  coloured  riband.  But  how  can  any 
government  be  well  served,  if  those  who  command  its 
forces  are  at  liberty,  without  its  permission,  without  its 
privity,  to  accept  princely  fortunes  from  its  alhet  ?  It  is 


LORD  CLIVE.  253 

idle  to  say  tliat  there  was  then  no  Act  of  Parliament 
prohibiting  the  practice  of  taking  presents  from  Asiatic 
sovereigns.  It  is  not  on  the  Act  which  was  passed  at 
a  later  period  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  any  such 
taking  of  presents,  but  on  grounds  which  were  valid 
before  that  Act  was  passed,  on  grounds  of  common  law 
and  common  sense,  that  we  arraign  the  conduct  of 
Clive.  There  is  no  Act  that  we  know  of,  prohibiting 
the  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs  from  being  in 
the  pay  of  continental  powers,  but  it  is  not  the  less  true 
that  a  Secretary  who  should  receive  a  secret  pension 
from  France  would  grossly  violate  his  duty,  and  would 
deserve  severe  punishment.  Sir  John  Malcolm  com- 
pares the  conduct  of  Clive  with  that  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington.  Suppose,  —  and  we  beg  pardon  for  put- 
ting such  a  supposition  even  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
—  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had,  after  the  campaign 
of  1815,  and  while  he  commanded  the  army  of  occupa- 
tion in  France,  privately  accepted  two  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  from  Lewis  the  Eighteenth,  as  a  mark  of 
gratitude  for  the  great  services  which  his  Grace  had 
rendered  to  the  House  of  Bourbon ;  what  would  be 
thought  of  such  a  transaction  ?  Yet  the  statute-book  no 
more  forbids  the  taking  of  presents  in  Europe  now  than 
it  forbade  the  taking  of  presents  in  Asia  then. 

At  the  same  time,  it  nmst  be  admitted  that,  in 
Olive's  case,  there  were  many  extenuating  circum- 
stances. He  considered  himself  as  the  general,  not  of 
the  Crown,  but  of  the  Company.  The  Company  had, 
by  implication  at  least,  authorised  its  agents  to  enrich 
themselves  by  means  of  the  liberality  of  the  native 
princes,  and  by  other  means  still  more  objectionable. 
It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  the  servant  should 
entertain  stricter  notions  of  his  duty  than  were  enter 


251  LORD  CLIVE. 

tained  by  Ills  masters.  Though  Clive  did  not  distinctly 
acquaint  his  employers  with  what  had  taken  place  and 
request  their  sanction,  he  did  not,  on  the  other  hand, 
by  studied  concealment,  show  that  he  was  conscious  of 
having  done  wrong.  On  the  contrary,  he  avowed  with 
the  greatest  openness  that  the  Nabob's  bounty  had 
raised  him  to  affluence.  Lastly,  though  we  think  that 
he  ought  not  in  such  a  way  to  have  taken  any  thing,  we 
must  admit  that  he  deserves  praise  for  having  taken  so 
little.  He  accepted  twenty  lacs  of  rupees.  It  would 
have  cost  him  only  a  word  to  make  the  twenty  forty. 
It  was  a  very  easy  exercise  of  virtue  to  declaim  in  Eng- 
land against  Olive's  rapacity  ;  but  not  one  in  a  hundred 
of  his  accusers  would  have  shown  so  much  self-com- 
mand in  the  treasury  of  Moorshedabad. 

Meer  Jaffier  could  be  upheld  on  the  throne  only  by 
the  hand  wliich  had  placed  him  on  it.  He  was  not,  in- 
deed, a  mere  boy ;  nor  had  he  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
be  born  in  the  purple.  He  was  not  therefore  quite  so 
imbecile  or  quite  so  depraved  as  his  predecessor  had 
been.  But  he  had  none  of  the  talents  or  virtues  which 
his  post  required  ;  and  his  son  and  heir,  Meeran,  was 
another  Surajah  Dowlah.  The  recent  revolution  had 
unsettled  the  minds  of  men.  Many  chiefs  were  in  open 
insurrection  against  the  new  Nabob.  The  viceroy  of 
the  rich  and  powerful  province  of  Oude,  who,  like  the 
other  viceroys  of  the  Mogul,  was  now  in  truth  an  inde- 
pendent sovereign,  menaced  Bengal  with  invasion. 
Nothing  but  the  talents  and  authority  of  Olive  could 
support  the  tottering  government.  While  things  were 
in  this  state  a  ship  arrived  with  despatches  which  had 
been  written  at  the  India  House  before  the  news  of  the 
battle  of  Plassey  had  reached  London.  The  Directors 
tad  determined  to  place  the  English  settlements  in  Ben 


LORD  CLIVE.  255 

gal  under  a  government  constituted  in  the  most  cum- 
brous and  absurd  manner;  and,  to  make  the  matter 
worse,  no  place  in  the  arrangement  was  assigned  to 
Clive.  The  persons  who  were  selected  to  form  thig 
new  government,  greatly  to  their  honour,  took  on  them- 
selves the  responsibility  of  disobeying  these  preposter- 
ous orders,  and  invited  Clive  to  exercise  the  supreme 
authority.  He  consented ;  and  it  soon  appeared  that 
the  servants  of  the  Company  had  only  anticipated  the 
wishes  of  their  employers.  The  Directors,  on  receiving 
news  of  dive's  brilliant  success,  instantly  appointed 
him  governor  of  their  possessions  in  Bengal,  with  the 
highest  marks  of  gratitude  and  esteem.  His  power 
was  now  boundless,  and  far  surpassed  even  that  which 
Dupleix  had  attained  in  the  south  of  India.  Meer 
Jaffier  regarded  him  with  slavish  awe.  On  one  occa- 
sion, the  Nabob  spoke  with  severity  to  a  native  chief 
of  high  rank,  whose  followers  had  been  engaged  in  a 
brawl  with  some  of  the  Company's  sepoys.  "  Are  you 
yet  to  learn,"  he  said,  "  who  that  Colonel  Clive  is,  and 
in  what  station  God  has  placed  him  ?  "  The  chief, 
who,  as  a  famous  jester  and  an  old  friend  of  Meer  Jaf- 
fier, could  venture  to  take  liberties,  answered,  "  I  af- 
front the  Colonel !  I,  who  never  get  up  in  the  morning 
without  making  three  low  bows  to  his  jackass !  "  This 
was  hardly  an  exaggeration.  Europeans  and  natives 
were  alike  at  Clive's  feet.  The  English  regarded  him 
as  the  only  man  who  could  force  Meer  Jaffier  to  keep 
his  engagements  with  them.  Meer  Jaffier  regarded 
him  as  the  only  man  who  could  protect  the  new  dynasty 
against  turbulent  subjects  and  encroaching  neighbours. 
It  is  but  justice  to  say  that  Clive  used  his  power  ably 
and  vigorously  for  the  advantage  of  his  country.  He 
»ent  forth  an  expedition  against  the  tract  lying  to  the 


25G  LORD  CLIVE. 

north  of  the  Carnatic.  In  this  tract  the  French  still 
had  the  ascendency ;  and  it  was  important  to  dislodge 
them.  The  conduct  of  the  enterprise  was  intrusted 
to  an  officer  of  the  name  of  Forde,  who  was  then  little 
known,  but  in  whom  the  keen  eye  of  the  governor  h;ul 
detected  military  talents  of  a  high  order.  The  success 
of  the  expedition  was  rapid  and  splendid. 

While  a  considerable  part  of  the  army  of  Bengal 
was  thus  engaged  at  a  distance,  a  new  and  formidable 
danger  menaced  the  western  frontier.  The  Great  Mo- 
gul was  a  prisoner  at  Delhi  in  the  hands  of  a  subject. 
His  eldest  son,  named  Shah  Alum,  destined  to  be,  dur- 
ing many  years,  the  sport  of  adverse  fortune,  and  to  be 
a  tool  in  the  hands,  first  of  the  Mahrattas,  and  then  of 
the  English,  had  fled  from  the  palace  of  his  father. 
His  birth  was  still  revered  in  India.  Some  powerful 
princes,  the  Nabob  of  Oude  in  particular,  were  inclined 
to  favour  him.  Shah  Alum  found  it  easy  to  draw  to 
his  standard  great  numbers  of  the  military  adventurers 
with  whom  every  part  of  the  country  swarmed.  An 
army  of  forty  thousand  men,  of  various  races  and  re- 
ligions, Mahrattas,  Rohillas,  Jauts,  and  Afghans,  was 
speedily  assembled  round  him  ;  and  he  formed  the  de- 
sign of  overthrowing  the  upstart  whom  the  English  had 
elevated  to  a  throne,  and  of  establishing  his  own  au- 
thority throughout  Bengal,  Orissa,  and  Bahar. 

Meer  Jaffioi's  terror  was  extreme ;  and  the  only 
expedient  which  occurred  to  him  was  to  purchase,  by 
the  payment  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  an  accommoda- 
tion with  Shah  Alum.  This  expedient  had  been  re- 
peatedly employed  by  those  who,  before  him,  had  ruled 
the  rich  and  unwarlike  provinces  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Ganges.  But  Clive  treated  the  suggestion  with  n 
»corn  worthy  of  his  strong  sense  and  dauntless  courage 


LORD  CLIVE.  257 

"If  you  do  this,"  he  wrote,  "you  will  have  the  Nabob 
of  Oude,  the  Mahrattas,  and  many  more,  come  from 
all  parts  of  the  confines  of  your  country,  who  will  bully 
you  out  of  money  till  you  have  none  left  in  your  treas- 
ury. I  beg  your  Excellency  will  rely  on  the  fidelity 
of  the  English,  and  of  those  troops  which  are  attached 
to  you."  He  wrote  in  a  similar  strain  to  the  governor 
of  Patna,  a  brave  native  soldier  whom  he  highly  es» 
teemed.  "  Come  to  no  terms  ;  defend  your  city  to  the 
last.  Rest  assured  that  the  English  are  stanch  and 
firm  friends,  and  that  they  never  desert  a  cause  in  which 
they  have  once  taken  a  part." 

He  kept  his  word.  Shah  Alum  had  invested  Patna, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  proceeding  to  storm,  when  he 
learned  that  the  Colonel  was  advancing  by  forced 
marches.  The  whole  army  which  was  approaching 
consisted  only  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  Europeans 
and  two  thousand  five  hundred  sepoys.  But  Clive  and 
his  Englishmen  were  now  objects  of  dread  over  all  the 
Fast.  As  soon  as  his  advanced  guard  appeared,  the 
besiegers  fled  before  him.  A  few  French  adventurers 
who  \\ere  about  the  person  of  the  prince  advised  him 
.  to  try  the  chance  of  battle ;  but  in  vain.  In  a  few 
days  this  great  army,  which  had  been  regarded  with  so 
much  uneasiness  by  the  court  of  Moorshedabad,  meltpd 
away  before  the  mere  terror  of  the  British  name. 

The  conqueror  returned  in  triumph  to  Fort  William. 
The  joy  of  Meer  Jafner  was  as  unbounded  as  his  fears 
had  been,  and  led  him  to  bestow  on  his  preserver  a 
princely  token  of  gratitude.  The  quit-rent  which  the 
East  India  Company  were  bound  to  pay  to  the  Nabob 
Cor  the  extensive  lands  held  by  them  to  the  south  of 
Calcutta  amounted  to  near  thirty  thousand  pounds 
•terling  a  year.  The  whole  of  this  splendid  estate, 


258  LORD  OLIVE 

sufficient  to  support  with  dignity  the  highest  rank  of 
the  British  peerage,  was  now  conferred  on  Clive  for 
life. 

This  present  we  think  Clive  was  justified  in  accept" 
ing.  It  was  a  present  which,  from  its  very  nature, 
could  be  no  secret.  In  fact,  the  Company  itself  was 
his  tenant,  and,  by  its  acquiescence,  signified  its  appro- 
bation of  Meer  Jaffiers  grant. 

But  the  gratitude  of  Meer  Jaffier  did  not  last  long. 
He  had  for  some  time  felt  that  the  powerful  ally  who 
had  set  him  up  might  pull  him  down,  and  had  been 
looking  round  for  support  against  the  formidable 
strength  by  which  he  had  himself  been  hitherto  sup- 
ported. He  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find 
among  the  natives  of  India  any  force  which  would 
look  the  Colonel's  little  army  in  the  face.  The  French 
power  in  Bengal  was  extinct.  But  the  fame  of  the 
Dutch  had  anciently  been  great  in  the  Eastern  seas  ; 
and  it  was  not  yet  distinctly  known  in  Asia  how  much 
the  power  of  Holland  had  declined  in  Europe.  Secret 
communications  passed  between  the  court  of  Moorshe- 
dabad  and  the  Dutch  factory  at  Chinsurah  ;  and  urgent 
letters  were  sent  from  Chinsurah,  exhorting  the  govern- 
ment of  Batavia  to  fit  out  an  expedition  which  might 
balance  the  power  of  the  English  in  Bengal.  The 
authorities  of  Batavia,  eager  to  extend  the  influence  of 
their  country,  and  still  more  eager  to  obtain  for  them- 
selves a  share  of  the  wealth  which  had  recently  raised 
so  many  English  adventurers  to  opulence,  equipped 
a  powerful  armament.  Seven  large  ships  from  Java  ar- 
rived unexpectedly  in  the  Hoogley.  The  military  force 
on  board  amounted  to  fifteen  hundred  men,  of  whom 
tbout  one  half  were  Europeans.  The  enterprise  waa 
well  timed.  Clive  had  sent  such  large  detachments  te 


LORD  CLIVE. 

oppose  the  French  in  the  Carnatic  that  his  army  was 
now  inferior  in  number  to  that  of  the  Dutch.  He 
knew  that  Meer  Jaffier  secretly  favoured  the  invaders. 
He  knew  that  he  took  on  himself  a  serious  responsibil- 
ity if  he  attacked  the  forces  of  a  friendly  power ;  that 
the  English  ministers  could  not  wish  to  see  a  war  with 
Holland  added  to  that  in  which  they  were  already 
engaged  with  France ;  that  they  might  disavow  his 
acts ;  that  they  might  punish  him.  He  had  recently 
remitted  a  great  part  of  his  fortune  to  Europe,  through 
the  Dutch  East  India  Company  ;  and  he  had  therefore 
a  strong  interest  in  avoiding  any  quarrel.  But  he  was 
satisfied  that,  if  he  suffered  the  Batavian  armament  to 
pass  up  the  river  and  to  join  the  garrison  of  Chinsurah, 
Meer  Jaffier  would  throw  himself  into  the  arms  of 
these  new  allies,  and  that  the  English  ascendency  in 
Bengal  would  be  exposed  to  most  serious  danger.  He 
took  his  resolution  with  characteristic  boldness,  and 
was  most  ably  seconded  by  his  officers,  particularly  by 
Colonel  Fordo,  to  whom  the  most  important  part  of 
the  operations  was  intrusted.  The  Dutch  attempted 
to  force  a  passage.  The  English  encountered  them 
both  by  land  and  water.  On  both  elements  the  enemy 
had  a  great  superiority  of  force.  On  both  they  were 
signally  defeated.  Their  ships  were  taken.  Their 
troops  were  put  to  a  total  rout.  Almost  all  the  Euro- 
pean soldiers,  who  constituted  the  main  strength  of  the 
invading  army,  were  killed  or  taken.  The  conquerors 
sat  down  before  Chinsurah  ;  and  the  chiefs  of  that  set- 
tlement, now  thoroughly  humbled,  consented  to  the 
verms  which  Clive  dictated.  They  engaged  to  build 
no  fortifications,  and  to  raise  no  troops  beyond  a  small 
force  necessary  for  the  police  of  then'  factories  ;  and  it 
was  distinctly  provided  that  any  violation  of  these  c«v- 


260  LORD  CLIVE. 

enants  should  be  punished  with  instant  expulsion  from 
Bengal. 

Three  months  after  this  great  victory,  dive  sailed 
for  England.  At  home,  honours  and  rewards  awaited 
him,  not  indeed  equal  to  his  claims  or  to  his  ambition, 
but  still  such  as,  when  his  age,  his  rank  in  the  army, 
and  his  original  place  in  society  are  considered,  must 
be  pronounced  rare  and  splendid.  He  was  raised  to 
the  Irish  peerage,  and  encouraged  to  expect  an  Eng- 
lish title.  George  the  Third,  who  had  just  ascended 
the  throne,  received  him  with  great  distinction.  The 
ministers  paid  him  marked  attention  ;  and  Pitt,  whose 
influence  in  the  House  of  Commons  and  in  the  country 
was  unbounded,  was  eager  to  mark  his  regard  for  one 
whose  exploits  had  contributed  so  much  to  the  lustre 
of  that  memorable  period.  The  great  orator  had 
already  in  Parliament  described  Olive  as  a  heaven-born 
general,  as  a  man  who,  bred  to  the  labour  of  the  desk, 
had  displayed  a  military  genius  which  might  excite 
the  admiration  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  There  were 
then  no  reporters  in  the  gallery ;  but  these  words, 
emphatically  spoken  by  the  first  statesman  of  the 
age,  had  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  had  been  trans- 
mitted to  Clive  in  Bengal,  and  had  greatly  delighted 
and  flattered  him.  Indeed,  since  the  death  of  Wolfey 
Clive  was  the  only  English  general  of  whom  his 
countrymen  had  much  reason  to  be  proud.  The  Duke 
of  Cumberland  had  been  generally  unfortunate ;  and 
his  single  victory,  having  been  gained  over  his  country- 
men and  used  with  merciless  severity,  had  been  more 
fatal  to  his  popularity  than  his  many  defeats.  Conway, 
versed  in  the  learning  of  his  profession,  and  personally 
tourageous,  wanted  vigour  and  capacity.  Granby, 
honest,  generous,  and  as  brave  as  a  lion,  had  neither 


LORD   OLIVE.  261 

science  nor  genius.  Sackville,  inferior  in  knowledge 
and  abilities  to  none  of  his  contemporaries,  had  incurred, 
unjustly  as  we  believe,  the  imputation  most  fatal  to  the 
character  of  a  soldier.  It  was  under  the  command  of 
a  foreign  general  that  the  British  had  triumphed  at 
Minden  and  Warburg.  The  people  therefore,  as  was 
natural,  greeted  with  pride  and  delight  a  captain  of 
their  own,  whose  native  courage  and  self-taught  skill 
had  placed  him  on  a  level  with  the  great  tacticians  of 
Germany. 

The  wealth  of  Clive  was  such  as  enabled  him  to  vie 
with  the  first  grandees  of  England.  There  remains 
proof  that  he  had  remitted  more  than  a  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand  pounds  through  the  Dutch  East  In- 
dia Company,  and  more  than  forty  thousand  pounds 
through  the  English  Company.  The  amount  which 
he  had  sent  home  through  private  houses  was  also 
considerable.  He  had  invested  great  sums  in  jewels, 
then  a  very  common  mode  of  remittance  from  India. 
His  purchases  of  diamonds  at  Madras  alone,  amounted 
to  twenty-five  thousand  pounds.  Besides  a  great  mass 
of  ready  money,  he  had  his  Indian  estate,  valued  by 
himself  at  twenty-seven  thousand  a  year.  His  whole 
annual  income,  in  the  opinion  of  Sir  John  Malcolm, 
who  is  desirous  to  state  it  as  low  as  possible,  exceeded 
forty  thousand  pounds ;  and  incomes  of  forty  thousand 
pounds  at  the  time  of  the  accession  of  George  the 
Third  were  at  least  as  rare  as  incomes  of  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds  now.  We  may  safely  affirm  that  no 
Englishman  who  started  with  nothing,  has  ever,  in  any 
line  of  life,  created  such  a  fortune  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-four. 

It  would  be  unjust  not  to  add  that  Clive  made  a 
treditable  use  of  his  riches.  As  scon  as  the  battle  of 


262  LORD  CLIVE. 

Plassev  had  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  he  sent 

•t  t 

ten  thousand  pounds  to  his  sisters,  bestowed  as  much 
more  on  other  poor  friends  and  relations,  ordered  his 
agent  to  pay  eight  hundred  a  year  to  his  parents,  and 
to  insist  that  they  should  keep  a  carriage,  and  settled 
five  hundred  a  year  on  his  old  commander  Lawrence, 
whose  means  were  very  slender.  The  whole  sum 
which  Clive  expended  in  this  manner  may  be  calcu- 
lated at  fifty  thousand  pounds. 

He  now  set  himself  to  cultivate  Parliamentary  in  • 
terest.  His  purchases  of  land  seem  to  have  been 
made  in  a  great  measure  with  that  view,  and,  after 
the  general  election  of  1761,  he  found  himself  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  depend- 
ents whose  support  must  have  been  important  to  any 
administration.  In  English  politics,  however,  lie  did 
not  take  a  prominent  part.  His  first  attachments,  as 
we  have  seen,  were  to  Mr.  Fox  ;  at  a  later  period  he 
was  attracted  by  the  genius  and  success  of  Mr.  Pitt ; 
but  finally  he  connected  himself  in  the  closest  manner 
with  George  Grenville.  Early  in  the  session  of  1764, 
when  the  illegal  and  impolitic  persecution  of  that 
worthless  demagogue  Wilkes  had  strongly  excited  the 
public  mind,  the  town  was  amused  by  an  anecdote, 
wlxich  we  have  seen  in  some  unpublished  memoirs  of 
Horace  Walpole.  Old  Mr.  Richard  Clive,  who,  since 
his  son's  elevation,  had  been  introduced  into  society 
for  wliich  his  former  habits  had  not  well  fitted  him, 
presented  himself  at  the  levee.  The  King  asked  him 
where  Lord  Clive  was.  "  He  will  be  in  town  very 
soon,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  the  whole  circle,  "  and  then  your  Majesty  will  have 
another  vote." 

But  in  truth  ah1  Clive's  views  were  directed  toward* 


LOUD   CLIVE.  263' 

the  country  in  which  he  had  so  eminently  distinguished 
himself  as  a  soldier  and  a  statesman ;  and  it  was  by 
considerations  relating  to  India  that  his  conduct  as  a 
public  man  in  England  was  regulated.  The  power  of 
the  Company,  though  an  anomaly,  is  in  our  time,  we 
are  firmly  persuaded,  a  beneficial  anomaly.  In  the 
time  of  Clive,  it  was  not  merely  an  anomaly,  but  a  iiui 
sance.  There  was  no  Board  of  Control.  The  Director 
were  for  the  most  part  mere  traders,  ignorant  of  general 
politics,  ignorant  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  empire  which 
had  strangely  become  subject  to  them.  The  Court  of 
Proprietors,  wherever  it  chose  to  interfere,  was  able  to 
have  its  way.  That  court  was  more  numerous,  as  well 
as  more  powerful,  than  at  present ;  for  then  every  share 
of  five  hundred  pounds  conferred  a  vote.  The  meet- 
ings were  large,  stormy,  even  riotous,  the  debates  inde- 
cently virulent.  All  the  turbulence  of  a  Westminster 
election,  all  the  trickery  and  corruption  of  a  Grampound 
election,  disgraced  the  proceedings  of  this  assembly  on 
questions  of  the  most  solemn  importance.  Fictitious 
votes  were  manufactured  on  a  gigantic  scale.  Clive 
himself  laid  out  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  in  the  pur- 
chase of  stock,  which  he  then  divided  among  nominal 
proprietors  on  whom  he  could  depend,  and  wThom  he 
brought  down  in  his  train  to  every  discussion  and  every 
ballot.  Others  dkf'  the  same,  though  not  to  quite  so 
enormous  an  extent., 

The  interest  taken  by  the  public  of  England  in  Indian 
questions  was  then  far  greater  than  at  present,  and  the 
reason  is  obvious.  At  present  a  writer  enters  the  service 
young ;  he  climbs  slowly ;  he  is  fortunate  if,  at  forty- 
five,  he  can  return  to  his  country  with  an  annuity  of  a 
thousand  a  year,  and  with  savings  amounting  to  thirty 
thousand  pounds.  A  great  quantity  of  wealth  is  madt? 


264  LORD  CLIVE. 

by  English  functionaries  in  India ;  but  no  single  function- 
ary makes  a  very  large  fortune,  and  what  is  made  is 
slowly,  hardly,  and  honestly  earned.  Only  four  or  five 
high  political  offices  are  reserved  for  public  men  from 
England.  The  residencies,  the  secretaryships,  the  seats 
in  the  boards  of  revenue  and  in  the  Sudder  courts  arc 
all  filled  by  men  who  have  given  the  best  years  of  life 
to  the  service  of  the  Company  ;  nor  can  any  talents 
however  splendid  or  any  connections  however  powerful 
obtain  those  lucrative  posts  for  any  person  who  has  not 
entered  by  the  regular  door,  and  mounted  by  the  regu- 
lar gradations.  Seventy  years  ago,  less  money  wa3 
brought  home  from  the  East  than  in  our  time.  But  it 
was  divided  among  a  very  much  smaller  number  of 
persons,  and  immense  sums  were  often  accumulated  in 
a  few  months.  Any  Englishman,  whatever  his  age 
might  be,  might  hope  to  be  one  of  the  lucky  emigrants. 
If  he  made  a  good  speech  in  Leadenhall  Street,  or  pub- 
lished a  clever  pamphlet  in  defence  of  the  chairman,  he 
might  be  sent  out  in  the  Company's  service,  and  might 
return  in  three  or  four  years  as  rich  as  Pigot  or  as 
Clive.  Thus  the  India  House  was  a  lottery-office, 
which  invited  everybody  to  take  a  chance,  and  held  out 
ducal  fortunes  as  the  prizes  destined  for  the  lucky  few. 
As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  there  was  a  part  of  the 
world  where  a  lieutenant-colonel  had  one  morning  re- 
ceived as  a  present  an  estate  as  large  as  that  of  the  Earl 
of  Bath  or  the  Marquess  of  Rockingham,  and  where  it 
seemed  that  such  a  trifle  as  ten  or  twenty  thousand 
pounds  was  to  be  had  by  any  British  functionary  for 
the  asking,  society  began  to  exhibit  all  the  symptoms 
of  the  South  Sea  year,  a  feverish  excitement,  an  un- 
governable impatience  to  be  rich,  a  contempt  for  slow, 
sure,  and  moderate  gains. 


LORD  CLIVE.  265 

At  the  head  of  the  preponderating  party  in  the  India 
House,  had  long  stood  a  powerful,  able,  and  ambitious 
director  of  the  name  of  Sulivan.  He  had  conceived 
a  strong  jealousy  of  Clive,  and  remembered  with  bit- 
terness the  audacity  with  which  the  late  governor  of 
Bengal  had  repeatedly  set  at  nought  the  authority  of 
the  distant  Directors  of  the  Company.  An  apparent 
reconciliation  took  place  after  Olive's  arrival ;  but  en- 
mity remained  deeply  rooted  in  the  hearts  of  both. 
The  whole  body  of  Directors  was  then  chosen  an- 
nually. At  the  election  of  1763,  Clive  attempted  to 
break  down  the  power  of  the  dominant  faction.  The 
contest  was  carried  on  with  a  violence  which  he  de- 
scribes as  tremendous.  Sulivan  was  victorious,  and 
hastened  to  take  his  revenge.  The  grant  of  rent  which 
Clive  had  received  from  Meer  Jaffier  was,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  best  English  lawyers,  valid.  It  had 
been  made  by  exactly  the  same  authority  from  which 
the  Company  had  received  their  chief  possessions  in 
Bengal,  and  the  Company  had  long  acquiesced  in  it. 
The  Directors,  however,  most  unjustly  determined  to 
confiscate  it,  and  Clive  was  forced  to  file  a  bill  in 
Chancery  against  them. 

But  a  great  and  sudden  turn  in  affairs  was  at  hand. 
Every  ship  from  Bengal  had  for  some  time  brought 
alarming  tidings.  The  internal  misgovernment  of  tho 
province  had  reached  such  a  point  that  it  could  go  no 
further.  What,  indeed,  was  to  be  expected  from  a 
body  of  public  servants  exposed  to  temptation  such 
that,  as  Clive  once  said,  flesh  and  blood  could  not  bear 
it,  armed  with  irresistible  power,  and  responsible  only 
to  the  corrupt,  turbulent,  distracted,  ill  informed  Com- 
Dany,  situated  at  such  a  distance  that  the  average  in- 
terval between  the  sending  of  a  dispatch  and  the  receipt 

VOL.   IV.  12 


266  I-ORD  CLIYE. 

of  an  answer  was  above  a  year  and  a  half?  Accord- 
ingly, during  the  five  years  which  followed  the  de- 
parture of  Clive  from  Bengal,  the  misgovernment  of 
the  English  was  carried  to  a  point  such  as  seems  hardly 
compatible  with  the  very  existence  of  society.  The 
Roman  proconsul,  who,  in  a  year  or  two,  squeezed  out 
of  a  province  the  means  of  rearing  marble  palaces  and 
baths  on  the  shores  of  Campania,  of  drinking  from 
amber,  of  feasting  on  singing  birds,  of  exhibiting  armies 
of  gladiators  and  flocks  of  camelopards ;  the  Spanish 
viceroy,  who,  leaving  behind  him  the  curses  of  Mexico 
or  Lima,  entered  Madrid  with  a  long  train  of  gilded 
coaches,  and  of  sumpter-horses  trapped  and  shod  with 
silver,  were  now  outdone.  Cruelty,  indeed,  properly 
so  called,  was  not  among  the  vices  of  the  servants  of 
the  Company.  But  cruelty  itself  could  hardly  have 
produced  greater  evils  than  sprang  from  their  unprinci- 
pled eagerness  to  be  rich.  They  pulled  down  the*" 
creature,  Meer  Jaffier.  They  set  up  in  his  place  another 
Nabob,  named  Meer  Cossim.  But  Meer  Cossim  had 
parts  and  a  will ;  and,  though  sufficiently  inclined  to 
oppress  his  subjects  himself,  he  could  not  bear  to  see  them 
ground  to  the  dust  by  oppressions  Avhich  yielded  him 
no  profit,  nay,  which  destroyed  his  revenue  in  the  very 
source.  The  English  accordingly  pulled  down  Meer 
Cossim,  and  set  up  Meer  Jaffier  again ;  and  Meer  Cossim, 
after  revenging  himself  by  a  massacre  surpassing  in  atroc- 
ity that  of  the  Black  Hole,  fled  to  the  dominions  of  thfe 

«/ 

Nabob  of  Oude.  At  every  one  of  these  revolutions, 
vhe  new  prince  divided  among  his  foreign  masters  what- 
ever could  be  scraped  together  in  the  treasury  of  his 
fallen  predecessor.  The  immense  population  of  his  do- 
minions wras  given  up  as  a  prey  to  those  who  had  made 
Uini  a  sovereign,  and  who  could  unmake  him.  The  se:» 


LORD  CLIVE.  267 

rants  of  tlie  Company  obtained,  not  for  theii  employers, 
but  for  themselves,  a  monopoly  of  almost  the  whole  inter- 
nal trade.  They  forced  the  natives  to  buy  dear  and  to 
sell  cheap.  They  insulted  with  impunity  the  tribunals, 
the  police,  and  the  fiscal  authorities  of  the  country. 
They  covered  with  their  protection  a  set  of  native 
dependents  who  ranged  through  the  provinces,  spread- 
ing desolation  and-  terror  wherever  they  appeared. 
Every  servant  of  a  British  factor  was  armed  with  all  the 
power  of  his  master  ;  and  his  master  was  armed  with  all 
the  power  of  the  Company.  Enormous  fortunes  were 
thus  rap'dly  accumulated  at  Calcutta,  while  thirty 
millions  of  human  beings  were  reduced  to  the  extremity 
of  wretchedness.  They  had  been  accustomed  to  live 
under  tyranny,  but  never  under  tyranny  like  this. 
They  found  the  little  finger  of  the  Company  thicker 
than  the  loins  of  Surajah  Dowlah.  Under  their  old 
masters  they  had  at  least  one  resource :  when  the  evil 
became  insupportable,  the  people  rose  and  pulled  down 
the  government.  But  the  English  government  was 
not  to  be  so  shaken  off.  That  government,  oppressive 
as  the  most  oppressive  form  of  barbarian  despotism, 
was  strong  with  all  the  strength  of  civilisation.  It 
resembled  the  government  of  evil  Genii,  rather  than 
the  government  of  human  tyrants.  Even  despair 
could  not  inspire  the  soft  Bengalee  with  courage  tc 
confront  men  of  English  breed,  the  hereditary  nobility 
of  mankind,  whose  skill  and  valour  had  so  often  tri- 
umphed in  spite  of  tenfold  odds.  The  unhappy  race 
never  attempted  resistance.  Sometimes  they  sub- 
mitted in  patient  misery.  Sometimes  they  fled  from 
the  white  man,  as  their  fathers  had  been  used  to  fly 
from  the  Mahratta  ;  and  the  palanquin  of  the  English 
traveller  was  often  carried  through  silent  villages  and 


268  LORD  CLIVE. 

towns,  which  the  report  of  his  approach  had  made 
desolate. 

The  foreign  lords  of  Bengal  were  naturally  objects 
of  hatred  to  all  the  neighbouring  powers  ;  and  to  all 
the  haughty  race  presented  a  dauntless  front.  The 
English  armies,  everywhere  outnumbered,  were  every- 
where victorious.  A  succession  of  commanders,  formed 
in  the  school  of  Clive,  still  maintained  the  fame  of  their 
country.  "  It  must  be  acknowledged,"  says  the  Mus- 
sulman historian  of  those  times,  "  that  this  nation's 
presence  of  mind,  firmness  of  temper,  and  undaunted 
bravery,  are  past  all  question.  They  join  the  most 
resolute  courage  to  the  most  cautious  prudence;  nor 
have  they  their  equals  in  the  art  of  ranging  themselves 
in  battle  array  and  fighting  in  order.  If  to  so  many 
military  qualifications  they  knew  how  to  join  the  arts 
of  government,  if  they  exerted  as  much  ingenuity  and 
solicitude  in  relieving  the  people  of  God,  as  they  do  in 
whatever  concerns  their  military  affairs,  no  nation  in 
the  world  would  be  preferable  to  them,  or  worthier  of 
command.  But  the  people  under  their  dominion 
groan  everywhere,  and  are  reduced  to  poverty  and 
distress.  Oh  God !  come  to  the  assistance  of*  thine 
afflicted  servants,  and  deliver  them  from  the  oppressions 
which  they  suffer." 

It  was  impossible,  however,  that  even  the  military 
establishment  should  long  continue  exempt  from  the 
vi3es  which  pervaded  every  other  part  of  the  govern- 
ment. Rapacity,  luxury,  and  the  spirit  of  insubordi- 
nation spread  from  the  civil  service  to  the  officers  of 
the  army,  and  from  the  officers  to  the  soldiers.  The 
evil  continued  to  grow  till  every  mess-room  became 
the  seat  of  conspiracy  and  cabal,  and  till  the  sepoys 
wuld  be  kept  in  order  only  by  wholesale  executions. 


LOKD  CL1VE.  269 

At  length  the  state  of  things  in  Bengal  began  to 
excite  uneasiness  at  home.  A  succession  of  revolu- 
tions ;  a  disorganized  administration  ;  the  natives  pil- 
laged, yet  the  Company  not  enriched ;  every  fleet 
bringing  back  fortunate  adventurers  who  were  able 
to  purchase  manors  and  to  build  stately  dwellings,  yet 
bringing  back  also  alarming  accounts  of  the  financial 
prospects  of  the  government ;  war  on  the  frontiers ; 
disaffection  in  the  army ;  the  national  character  dis- 
graced by  excesses  resembling  those  of  Verres  and 
Pizarro ;  such  was  the  spectacle  which  dismayed  those 
who  were  conversant  with  Indian  affairs.  The  general 
cry  was  that  Clive,  and  Clive  alone,  could  save  the 
empire  which  he  had  founded. 

This  feeling  manifested  itself  in  the  strongest  manner 
at  a  very  full  General  Court  of  Proprietors.  Men  of 
all  parties,  forgetting  their  feuds  and  trembling  for  their 
dividends,  exclaimed  that  Clive  was  the  man  whom  the 
crisis  required,  that  the  oppressive  proceedings  which 
had  been  adopted  respecting  his  estate  ought  to  be 
dropped,  and  that  he  ought  to  be  entreated  to  return  to 
India. 

Clive  rose.  As  to  his  estate,  he  said,  he  would  make 
such  propositions  to  the  Directors,  as  would,  he  trusted, 
lead  to  an  amicable  settlement.  But  there  was  a  still 
greater  difficulty.  It  was  proper  to  tell  them  that  he 
never  would  undertake  the  government  of  Bengal 
while  his  enemy  Sulivan  was  chairman  of  the  Com- 
pany. The  tumult  was  violent.  Sulivan  could  scarcely 
obtain  a  hearing.  An  overwhelming  majority  of  the 
assembly  was  on  Clive's  side.  Sulivan  wished  to  try 
the  result  of  a  ballot.  But,  according  to  the  by-laws 
if  the  Company,  there  can  be  no  ballot  except  on  a 
•equisition  signed  by  nine  proprietors  ;  and,  though 


270  LORD  CLIVE. 

hundreds  were  present,  nine  persons  could  not  be  found 
to  set  their  hands  to  such  a  requisition. 

Clive  was  in  consequence  nominated  Governor  and 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  British  possessions  in  Ben- 
gal. But  he  adhered  to  his  declaration,  and  refused  to 
enter  on  his  office  till  the  event  of  the  next  election  of  Di- 
rectors should  be  known.  The  contest  was  obstinate  \ 
but  Clive  triumphed.  Sulivan,  lately  absolute  master 
of  the  India  House,  was  within  a  vote  of  losincr  his 

*  O 

own  seat ;  and  both  the  chairman  and  the  deputy-chair- 
man were  friends  of  the  new  governor. 

Such  were  the  circumstances  under  which  Lord 
Clive  sailed  for  the  third  and  last  time  to  India.  In 
May,  1765,  he  reached  Calcutta;  and  he  found  the 
whole  machine  of  government  even  more  fearfully  dis- 
organized than  he  had  anticipated.  Meer  Jaffier,  who 
had  some  time  before  lost  his  eldest  son  Meeran,  had 
died  while  Clive  was  on  his  voyage  out.  The  English 
functionaries  at  Calcutta  had  already  received  from 
home  strict  orders  not  to  accept  presents  from  the 
native  princes.  But,  eager  for  gain,  and  unaccustomed 
to  respect  the  commands  of  their  distant,  ignorant,  and 
negligent  masters,  they  again  set  up  the  throne  of  Ben- 
gal to  sale.  About  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
pounds  sterling  was  distributed  among  nine  of  the  most 
powerful  servants  of  the  Company ;  and,  in  considera- 
tion of  this  bribe,  an  infant  son  of  the  deceased  Nabob 
was  placed  on  the  seat  of  his  father.  The  news  of  the 
ignominious  bargain  met  Clive  on  his  arrival.  In  a 
private  letter,  written  immediately  after  his  landing,  to 
*n  intimate  friend,  he  poured  out  his  feelings  in  lan- 
guage which,  proceeding  from  a  man  so  daring,  so  res- 
olute, and  so  little  given  to  theatrical  display  of  senti- 
ment, seems  to  us  singularly  touching.  "  Alas !  "  he 


LOKD  CLIVE.  271 

lays,  "  how  is  the  English  name  sunk !  I  could  not 
avoid  paying  the  tribute  of  a  few  tears  to  the  departed 
and  lost  fame  of  the  British  nation  —  irrecoverably  so, 
I  fear.  However,  I  do  declare,  by  that  great  Being 
who  is  the  searcher  of  all  hearts,  and  to  whom  we  must 
be  accountable  if  there  be  a  hereafter,  that  I  am  come 
out  with  a  mind  superior  to  all  conniption,  and  that  I 
am  determined  to  destroy  these  great  and  growing  evils 
or  perish  in  the  attempt." 

The  Council  met,  and  Olive  stated  to  them  his  full 
determination  to  make  a  thorough  reform,  and  to  use 
for  that  purpose  the  whole  of  the  ample  authority,  civil 
and  military,  which  had  been  confided  to  him.  John- 
stone,  one  of  the  boldest  and  worst  men  in  the  assembly, 
made  some  show  of  opposition.  Olive  interrupted  him, 
and  haughtily  demanded  whether  he  meant  to  question 
the  power  of  the  new  government.  Johnstone  was 
cowed,  and  disclaimed  any  such  intention.  All  the 
faces  round  the  board  grew  long  and  pale  ;  and  not 
another  syllable  of  dissent  was  uttered. 

Olive  redeemed  his  pledge.  He  remained  in  India 
about  a  year  and  a  half;  and  in  that  short  time  ef- 
fected one  of  the  most  extensive,  difficult,  and  salutary 
reforms  that  ever  was  accomplished  by  any  statesman. 
This  was  the  part  of  his  life  on  which  he  afterwards 
looked  back  with  most  pride.  He  had  it  in  his  power 
ko  triple  his  already  splendid  fortune  ;  to  connive  at 
abuses  while  pretending  to  remove  them  ;  to  conciliate 
the  good-will  of  all  the  English  in  Bengal,  by  giving 
up  to  their  rapacity  a  helpless  and  timid  race,  who 
.Vnew  not  where  lay  the  island  which  sent  forth  their 
Oppressors,  and  whose  complaints  had  little  chance  of 
being  heard  across  fifteen  thousand  miles  of  ocean.  He 
&new  that  if  he  applied  himself  in  earnest  to  the  work 


£72  LORD  CLIVE. 

of  reformation,  he  should  raise  every  bad  passion  in 
arms  against  him.  He  knew  how  unscrupulous,  how 
implacable,  would  be  the  hatred  of  those  ravenous  ad- 
venturers who,  having  counted  on  accumulating  in  a 
few  months  fortunes  sufficient  to  support  peerages, 
should  find  all  their  hopes  frustrated.  But  he  had 
chosen  the  good  part ;  and  he  called  up  all  the  force 
of  his  mind  for  a  battle  far  harder  than  that  cf  Plassey. 
At  first  success  seemed  hopeless ;  but  soon  all  obstacles 
began  to  bend  before  that  iron  courage  and  that  vehe- 
ment will.  The  receiving  of  presents  from  the  natives 
.was  rigidly  prohibited.  The  private  trade  of  the  ser- 
vants of  the  Company  was  put  down.  The  whole 
settlement  seemed  to  be  set,  as  one  man,  against  these 
measures.  But  the  inexorable  governor  declared  that, 
if  he  could  not  find  support  at  Fort  AVilliam,  he  would 
procure  it  elsewhere,  and  sent  for  some  civil  servants 
from  Madras  to  assist  him  in  carrying  on  the  adminis- 
tration. The  most  factious  of  his  opponents  he  turned 
out  of  their  offices.  The  rest  submitted  to  what  was 
inevitable ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  all  resistance  was 
quelled. 

But  Clive  was  far  too  wise  a  man  not  to  see  that  the 
recent  abuses  were  partly  to  be  ascribed  to  a  cause 
which  could  not  fail  to  produce  similar  abuses,  as  soon 
as  the  pressure  of  his  strong  hand  was  withdrawn. 
The  Company  had  followed  a  mistaken  policy  with 
respect  to  the  remuneration  of  its  servants.  The  sala- 
ries were  too  low  to  afford  even  those  indulgences  which 
kve  necessary  to  the  health  and  comfort  of  Europeans 
in  a  tropical  climate.  To  lay  by  a  rupee  from  such 
scanty  pay  was  impossible.  It  could  not  be  supposed 
that  men  of  even  arerage  abilities  would  consent  to 
pass  the  best  years  of  life  in  exile,  tinder  a  burning  sun 


LORD  CLIVE.  273 

tor  no  other  consideration  than  these  stinted  wages.  It 
'iad  accordingly  been  understood,  from  a  very  early 
period,  that  the  Company's  agents  were  at  liberty  to 
snrieh  themselves  by  their  private  trade.  This  prac- 
tice had  been  seriously  injurious  to  the  commercial 
interests  of  the  corporation.  That  very  intelligent 
observer,  Sir  Thomas  Roe,  in  the  reign  of  James  the 
First,  strongly  urged  the  Directors  to  apply  a  remedy 
to  the  abuse.  "  Absolutely  prohibit  the  private  trade," 
said  he ;  "  for  your  business  will  be  better  done.  I 
know  this  is  harsh.  Men  profess  they  come  not  for 
bare  wages.  But  you  will  take  away  this  plea  if  you 
give  great  wages  to  their  content ;  and  then  you  know 
what  you  part  from." 

In  spite  of  this  excellent  advice,  the  Company 
adhered  to  the  old  system,  paid  low  salaries,  and 
connived  at  the  indirect  gains  of  the  agents.  The 
pay  of  a  member  of  Council  was  only  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year.  Yet  it  was  notorious  that  such  a 
functionary  could  not  live  in  India  for  less  than  ten 
times  that  sum  ;  and  it  could  not  be  expected  that  he 
would  be  content  to  live  even  handsomely  in  India 
without  laying  up  something  against  the  time  of  his 
return  to  England.  This  system,  before  the  conquest 
of  Bengal,  might  affect  the  amount  of  the  dividends 
payable  to  the  proprietors,  but  could  do  little  harm  in 
any  other  way.  But  the  Company  was  now  a  ruling 
body.  Its  servants  might  still  be  called  factors,  junior 
merchants,  senior  merchants.  But  they  were  in  truth 
proconsuls,  proprastors,  procurators  of  extensive  regions. 
They  had  immense  power.  Their  regular  pay  was 
universally  admitted  to  be  insufficient.  They  were,  by 
ihe  ancient  usage  of  the  service,  and  by  the  implied 
permission  of  their  employers,  warranted  in  enriching 


274  LORD  CLIYE 

themselves  by  indirect  means ;  and  this  had  been  the 
origin  of  the  frightful  oppression  and  corruption  which 
had  desolated  Bengal.  Clive  saw  clearly  that  it  waa 
absurd-  to  give  men  power,  and  to  require  them  to  live 
in  penury.  He  justly  concluded  that  no  reform  couli 
be  effectual  which  should  not  be  coupled  with  a  plan  for 
liberally  remunerating  the  civil  servants  of  the  Com- 
pany. The  Directors,  he  knew,  were  not  disposed  to 
sanction  any  increase  of  the  salaries  out  of  their  own 
treasury.  The  only  course  which  remained  open  to  the 
governor  was  one  which  exposed  him  to  much  mis- 
representation, but  which  we  think  him  fully  justified 
in  adopting.  He  appropriated  to  the  support  of  the 
service  the  monopoly  of  salt,  which  has  formed,  down, 
to  our  own  time,  a  principal  head  of  Indian  revenue ; 
and  he  divided  the  proceeds  according  to  a  scale  which 
seems  to  have  been  not  unreasonably  fixed.  He  was 
in  consequence  accused  by  his  enemies,  and  has  been 
accused  by  historians,  of  disobeying  his  instructions,  of 
violating  his  promises,  of  authorising  that  very  abuse 
which  it  was  his  special  mission  to  destroy,  namely  the 
trade  of  the  Company's  servants.  But  every  discerning 
and  impartial  judge  will  admit,  that  there  was  really 
nothing  in  common  between  the  system  which  he  set 
up  and  that  which  he  was  sent  to  destroy.  The  mo- 
nopoly of  salt  had  been  a  source  of  revenue  to  the  gov- 
ernments of  India  before  Clive  was  born.  It  continued 
to  be  so  long  after  his  death.  The  civil  servants  were 
clearly  entitled  to  a  maintenance  out  of  the  revenue  ; 
and  all  that  Clive  did  was  to  charge  a  particular  portion 
of  the  revenue  with  their  maintenance.  He  thus,  while 
lie  put  an  end  to  the  practices  by  which  gigantic  for- 
tunes had  been  rapidly  accumulated,  gave  -to  every 
British  functionary  employed  in  the  East  the  meana 


LORD  CLIVE.  275 

of  slowly,  but  surely,  acquiring  a  competence.  Yet, 
Buch  is  the  injustice  of  mankind,  that  none  of  those 
acts  which  are  the  real  stains  of  his  life  has  drawn 
on  him  so  much  obloquy  as  this  measure,  which  was  in 
truth  a  reform  necessary  to  the  success  of  all  his  other 
reforms. 

lie  had  quelled  the  opposition  of  the  civil  service  : 
that  of  the  army  was  more  formidable.  Some  of  the 
retrenchments  which  had  been  ordered  by  the  Di- 
rectors affected  the  interests  of  the  military  service  ;  and 
a  storm  arose,  such  as  even  Caesar  would  not  willingly 
have  faced.  It  was  no  light  thing  to  encounter  the 
resistance  of  those  who  held  the  power  of  the  sword,  in 
a  country  governed  only  by  the  sword.  Two  hundred 
English  officers  engaged  in  a  conspiracy  against  the 
government,  and  determined  to  resign  their  commis- 
sions on  the  samte  day,  not  doubting  that  Clive  would 
grant  any  terms  rather  than  see  the  army,  on  which 
alone  the  British  empire  in  the  East  rested,  left  without 
commanders.  They  little  knew  the  unconquerable 
spirit  with  which  they  had  to  deal.  Clive  had  still  a 
few  officers  round  his  person  on  whom  he  could  rely. 
Ha  sent  to  Fort  St.  George  for  a  fresh  supply.  He 
gave  commissions  even  to  mercantile  agents  who  were 
disposed  to  support  him  at  this  crisis ;  and  he  sent  or- 
ders that  every  officer  who  resigned  should  be  instantly 
brought  up  to  Calcutta.  The  conspirators  found  that 
they  had  miscalculated.  The  governor  was  inexorable. 
The  troops  were  steady.  The  sepoys,  over  whom 
Clive  had  always  possessed  extraordinary  influence, 
stood  by  him  with  unshaken  fidelity.  The  leaders  in 
\he  plot  were  arrested,  tried,  and  cashiered.  The  rest, 
humbled  and  dispirited,  begged  to  be  permitted  to  with- 
draw their  resignations.  Many  of  them  declared  their 


276  LORD  CLIVE. 

repentance  even  with  tears.  The  younger  offenders 
Clive  treated  with  lenity.  To  the  ringleaders  he  was 
inflexibly  severe ;  but  his  severity  was  pure  from  all 
taint  of  private  malevolence.  While  he  sternly  up- 
held the  just  authority  of  his  office,  he  passed  by  per- 
sonal insults  and  injuries  with  magnanimous  disdain. 
One  of  the  conspirators  was  accused  of  having  planned 
the  assassination  of  the  governor ;  but  Clive  would  not 
listen  to  the  charge.  "  The  officers,"  he  said,  "are  Eng- 
lishmen, not  assassins." 

While  he  reformed  the  civil  service  and  established 
his  authority  over  the  army,  he  was  equally  successful 
in  his  foreign  policy.  His  landing  on  Indian  ground 
was  the  signal  for  immediate  peace.  The  Nabob  of 
Oude,  with  a  large  army,  lay  at  that  time  on  the  fron- 
tier of  Bahar.  He  had  been  joined  by  many  Afghans 
and  Mahrattas,  and  there  was  no  small  reason  to  expect 
a  general  coalition  of  all  the  native  powers  against  the 
English.  But  the  name  .of  Clive  quelled  in  an  instant 
all  opposition.  The  enemy  implored  peace  in  the  hum- 
blest language,  and  submitted  to  such  terms  as  the  new 
governor  chose  to  dictate. 

At  the  same  time,  the  Government  of  Bengal  was 
placed  on  a  new  footing.  The  power  of  the  English  in 
that  province  had  hitherto  been  altogether  undefined. 
It  was  unknown  to  the  ancient  constitution  of  the  em- 
pire, and  it  had  been  ascertained  by  no  compact.  It 
resembled  the  power  which,  in  the  last  decrepitude  of 
the  Western  Empire,  was  exercised  over  Italy  by  the 
great  chiefs  of  foreign  mercenaries,  the  Ricimers  and 
the  Odoacers,  who  put  up  and  pulled  down  at  their 
pleasure  a  succession  of  insignificant  princes,  dignified 
vdtk  the  names  of  Cajsar  and  Augustus.  But  as  in 
italy,  so  in  India,  the  warlike  strangers  at  length  fonnc. 


LORD  CLIVE.  277 

It  expedient  to  give  to  a  domination  which  had  been 
established  by  arms  the  sanction  of  law  and  ancient 
prescription.  Thcodoric  thought  it  politic  to  obtain 
from  the  distant  court  of  Byzantium  a  commission  ap- 
pointing him  ruler  of  Italy ;  and  Olive,  in  tne  same 
manner,  applied  to  the  Court  of  Delhi  for  a  formal 
grant  of  the  powers  of  which  he  already  possessed  the 
reality.  The  Mogul  was  absolutely  helpless ;  and, 
though  he  murmured,  had  reason  to  be  well  pleased 
that  the  English  were  disposed  to  give  solid  rupees, 
which  he  never  could  have  extorted  from  them,  in  ex- 
change for  a  few  Persian  characters  which  cost  him 
nothing.  A  bargain  \vas  speedily  struck ;  and  the 
titular  sovereign  of  Hindostan  issued  a  warrant,  em- 
powering the  Company  to  collect  and  administer  the 
revenues  of  Bengal,  Orissa,  and  Bahar. 

There  was  still  a  Nabob,  who  stood  to  the  British 
authorities  in  the  same  relation  in  which  the  last  drivel- 
ling Chilperics  and  Childerics  of  the  Merovingian  line 
stood  to  their  able  and  vigorous  Mayors  of  the  Palace, 
to  Charles  Martel  and  to  Pepin.  At  one  time  Clive 
had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  discard  this  phantom 
altogether  ;  But  he  afterwards  thought  that  it  might  be 
convenient  still  to  use  the  name  of  the  Nabob,  particu- 
larly in  dealings  with  other  European  nations.  The 
French,  the  Dutch,  and  the  Danes,  would,  he  con- 
ceived, submit  far  more  readily  to  the  authority  of  the 
native  Prince,  whom  they  had  always  been  accustomed 
lo  respect,  than  to  that  of  a  rival  trading  corporation, 
1'his  policy  may,  at  that  time,  have  been  judicious. 
But  the  pretence  was  soon  found  to  be  too  flimsy  to 
impose  on  anybody  ;  and  it  was  altogether  laid  aside. 
The  heir  of  Meer  Jaffier  still  resides  at  Moorshedabad, 
he  ancient  capital  of  his  house,  still  bears  the  title  of 


278  LORD  CLIYE. 

Nabob,  is  still  accosted  by  the  English  as  "  You! 
Highness,"  and  is  still  suffered  to  retain  a  portion  of  the 
regal  state  which  surrounded  his  ancestors.  A  pension 
of  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  pounds  a  year  is  an- 
nually paid  to  him  by  the  government.  His  carriage  is 
burrounded  by  guards,  and  preceded  by  attendants  with 
silver  maces.  His  person  and  his  dwelling  are  ex- 
empted from  the  ordinary  authority  of  the  ministers  of 
justice.  But  he  has  not  the  smallest  share  of  political 
power,  and  is,  in  fact,  only  a  noble  and  wealthy  subject 
of  the  Company. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  Clive,  during  his  second 
administration  in  Bengal,  to  accumulate  riches,  such  as 
no  subject  in  Europe  possessed.  He  might  indeed, 
without  subjecting  the  rich  inhabitants  of  the  province 
to  any  pressure  beyond  that  to  which  their  mildest 
rulers  had  accustomed  them,  have  received  presents  to 
the  amount  of  three  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
The  neighbouring  princes  would  gladly  have  paid  any 
price  for  his  favour.  But  he  appears  to  have  strictly 
adhered  to  the  rules  which  he  had  laid  down  for  the 
guidance  of  others.  The  Rajah  of  Benares  offered  him 
diamonds  of  great  value.  The  Nabob  of  Oude  pressed 
him  to  accept  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  a  casket  of 
costly  jewels.  Clive  courteously  but  peremptorily  re- 
fused :  and  it  should  be  observed  that  he  made  110 
merit  of  his  refusal,  and  that  the  facts  did  not  come  to 
light  till  jffter  his  death.  He  kept  an  exact  account  of 
his  salary,  of  his  share  of  the  profits  accruing  from  the 
trade  in  salt,  and  of  those  presents  which,  according  to 
the  fashion  of  the  East,  it  would  be  churlish  to  refuse. 
Out  of  the  sum  arising  from  these  resources  he  defrayed 
.the  expenses  of  his  situation.  The  surplus  he  divided 
imong  a  few  attached  friends  who  had  accompaniec 


LORD  CLIVE.  279 

Him  to  India,  He  always  boasted,  and,  as  far  as 
we  can  judge,  lie  boasted  with  truth,  that  his  last 
administration  diminished  instead  of  increasing  his 

O 

fortune. 

One  large  sum  indeed  he  accepted.  Meer  Jaffier 
had  left  him  by  will  above  sixty  thousand  pounds 
sterling  in  specie  and  jewels  :  and  the  rules  whicli  had 
been  recently  laid  down  extended  only  to  presents  from 
the  living,  and  did  not  affect  legacies  from  the  dead. 
Clive  took  the  money,  but  not  for  himself.  He  made 
the  whole  over  to  the  Company,  in  trust  for  officers 
and  soldiers  invalided  in  their  service.  The  fund  which 
still  bears  his  name,  owes  its  origin  to  this  princely 
donation.  After  a  stay  of  eighteen  months,  the  state 
of  his  health  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  return  to 
Europe.  At  the  close  of  January,  1767,  he  quitted 
for  the  last  time  the  country,  on  whose  destinies  ho 
had  exercised  so  mighty  an  influence. 

His  second  return  from  Bengal  was  not,  like  hig 
first,  greeted  by  the  acclamations  of  his  countrymen. 
'Numerous  causes  were  already  at  work  which  embit- 
tered the  remaining  years  of  his  life,  and  hurried  him 
to  an  untimely  grave.  His  old  enemies  at  the  India 
House  were  still  powerful  and  active ;  and  they  had 
been  reinforced  by  a  large  band  of  allies,  whose  vio-- 
lence  far  exceeded  their  own.  The  whole  crew  of 
pilferers  and  oppressors  from  whom  he  had  rescued 
Bengal  persecuted  him  with  the  implacaWt  rancour 
which  belongs  to  such  abject  natures.  Many  of  them 
even  invested  their  property  in  India  stock,  merely  that 
they  might  be  better  able  to  annoy  the  man  whose 
firmness  had  set  bounds  to  their  rapacity.  Lying  news- 
papers were  set  up  for  no  purpose  but  to  abuse  him  ; 
ind  the  temper  of  the  public  mind  was  then  such,  that 


280  LORD  CLIVE. 

these  arts,  which  tinder  ordinary  circumstances  would 
have  been  ineffectual  against  truth  and  merit,  produced 
an  extraordinary  impression. 

The  great  events  which  had  taken  place  in  India 
had  called  into  existence  a  new  class  of  Englishmen,  to 

O  ' 

whom  their  countrymen  gave  the  name  of  Nabobs. 
These  persons  had  generally  sprung  from  families  nei- 
ther ancient  nor  opulent ;  they  had  generally  been  sent 
at  an  early  age  to  the  East ;  and  they  had  there 
acquired  large  fortunes,  which  they  had  brought  back 
to  their  native  land.  It  was  natural  that,  not  having 
had  much  opportunity  of  mixing  with  the  best  society, 
they  should  exhibit  some  of  the  aAvkwardness  and  some 
of  the  pomposity  of  \ipstarts.  It  was  natural  that, 
during  their  sojourn  in  Asia,  they  should  have  acquired 
some  tastes  and  habits  surprising,  if  not  disgusting,  to 
persons  who  had  never  quitted  Europe.  It  was  natu- 
ral that,  having  enjoyed  great  consideration  in  the 
East,  they  should  not  be  disposed  to  sink  into  obscurity 
at  home  ;  and  as  they  had  money,  and  had  not  birth  or 
high  connection,  it  was  natural  that  they  should  display 
a  little  obtrusively  the  single  advantage  that  they  pos-' 
sessed.  Wherever  they  settled  there  was  a  kind  of 
feud  between  them  and  the  old  nobility  and  gentry, 
similar  to  that  which  raged  in  France  between  the 
farmer-general  and  the  marquess.  This  enmity  to  the 
aristocracy  long  continued  to  distinguish  the  servants  of 
the  Comjrtmy.  More  than  twenty  years  after  the  time 
of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  Burke  pronounced  that 
among  the  Jacobins  might  be  reckoned  "  the  East 
Indians  almost  to  a  man,  who  cannot  bear  to  find  that 
their  present  importance  does  not  bear  a  proportion  to 
th?ir  wealth." 

The  Nabobs  soon  became  a  mast  unpopular  class  of 


LORD  CLIVE.  281 

men.  Some  of  them  had  in  the  East  displayed  emi- 
nent talents,  and  rendered  great  services  to  the  state ; 
but  at  home  their  talents  were  not  shown  to  advantage, 
and  their  services  were  little  known.  That  they  had 
sprung  from  obscurity,  that  they  had  acqiiired  great 
wealth,  that  they  exhibited  it  insolently,  that  they  spent 
it  extravagantly,  that  they  raised  the  price  of  every 
thing  in  their  neighbourhood,  from  fresh  eggs  to  rotten 
boroughs,  that  their  liveries  outshone  those  of  dukes, 
that  then-  coaches  were  finer  than  that  of  the  Lord 
Mayor,  that  the  examples  of  their  large  and  ill  gov- 
erned households  corrupted  half  the  servants  in  the 
country,  that  some  of  them,  with  all  their  magnificence, 
could  not  catch  the  tone  of  good  society,  but,  in  spite 
of  the  stud  and  the  crowd  of  menials,  of  the  plate  and 
the  Dresden  china,  of  the  venison  and  the  Burgundy, 
were  still  low  men ;  these  were  things  which  excited, 
both  in  the  class  from  which  they  had  sprung  and  in 
the  class  into  which  they  attempted  to  force  themselves, 
the  bitter  aversion  which  is  the  effect  of  mingled  envy 
and  contempt.  But  when  it  was  also  rumoured  that 
the  fortune  which  had  enabled  its  possessor  to  eclipse 
the  Lord  Lieutenant  on  the  race-ground,  or  to  carry 
the  county  against  the  head  of  a  house  as  old  as  Domes- 
day Book,  had  been  accumulated  by  violating  public 
faith,  by  deposing  legitimate  princes,  by  reducing  whole 
provinces  to  beggary,  all  the  higher  and  better  as  well 
as  all  the  low  and  evil  parts  of  human  nature  were 
stirred  against  the  wretch  who  had  obtained  by  guilt 
and  dishonour  the  riches  which  he  now  lavished  with 
arrogant  and  inelegant  profusion.  The  unfortunate 
Nabob  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  those  foibles  against 
which  comedy  has  pointed  the  most  merciless  ridicule, 
»nd  of  those  crimes  which  have  thrown  the  deepest 


282  LORD  CLIYE. 

gloom  over  tragedy,  of  Turcaret  and  Nerd,  of  Mon- 
sieur Jourdain  and  Richard  the  Third.  A  tempest  of 
execration  and  derision,  such  as  can  be  compared  only 
to  that  outbreak  of  public  feeling  against  the  Puritans 
which  took  place  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  burst 
on  the  servants  of  the  Company.  The  humane  man 
was  horror-struck  at  the  way  in  which  they  had  got 
their  money,  the  thrifty  man  at  the  way  in  which  they' 
spent  it.  The  Dilettante  sneered  at  their  want  of 
taste.  The  Maccaroni  black-balled  them  as  vulgar 
fellows.  Writers  the  most  unlike  in  sentiment  and 
style,  Methodists  and  libertines,  philosophers  and  buf- 
foons, were  for  once  on  the  same  side.  It  is  hardly 
too  much  to  say  that,  during  a  space  of  about  thirty 
years,  the  whole  lighter  literature  of  England  was  col* 
oured  by  the  feelings  which  we  have  described.  Foote 
brought  on  the  stage  an  Anglo-Indian  chief,  dissolute, 
ungenerous,  and  tyrannical,  ashamed  of  the  humble 
friends  of  his  youth,  hating  the  aristocracy,  yet  child- 
ishly eager  to  be  numbered  among  them,  squandering 
his  wealth  on  pandars  and  flatterers,  tricking  out  his 
chairman  with  the  most  costly  hot-house  flowers,  and 
astounding  the  ignorant  with  jargon  about  rupees,  lacs, 
and  jaghires.  Mackenzie,  with  more  delicate  humour, 
depicted  a  plain  country  family  raised  by  the  Indian 
acquisitions  of  one  of  its  members  to  sudden  opulence, 
and  exciting  derision  by  an  awkward  mimicry  of  the 
manners  of  the  great.  Cowper  in  that  lofty  expostula- 
tion which  glows  with  the  very  spirit  of  the  Hebrew 
poets,  placed  the  oppression  of  India  foremost  in  the 
list  of  those  national  crimes  for  which  God  had  pun- 
ished England  with  years  of  disastrous  Avar,  with  dis- 
iomfiture  in  her  own  seas,  and  with  the  loss  of  her 
transatlantic  empire.  If  any  of  our  readers  will  take 


LORD   CLIYE.  283 

the  trouble  to  search  in  the  dusty  recesses  cf  circulating 
libraries  for  some  novel  published  sixty  years  ago,  the 
chance  is  that  the  villain  or  sub-villain  of  the  story  will 
prove  to  be  a  savage  old  Nabob,  with  an  immense  for- 
tune, a  tawny  complexion,  a  bad  liver,  and  a  worse  heart. 
Such,  as  far  as  we  can  now  judge,  was  the  feeling 
of  the  country  respecting  Nabobs  in  general.  And 
Clive  was  eminently  the  Nabob,  the  ablest,  the  most 
celebrated,  the  highest  in  rank,  the  highest  in  fortune, 
of  all  the  fraternity.  His  wealth  was  exhibited  in  a 
manner  which  could  not  fail  to  excite  odium.  He 
lived  with  great  magnificence  in  Berkeley  Square. 
He  reared  one  palace  in  Shropshire  and  another  at 
Claremont.  His  parliamentary  influence  might  vie 
with  that  of  the  greatest  families.  But  in  all  this 
splendour  and  power  envy  found  something  to  sneer 
at.  On  some  of  his  relations  wealth  and  dignity  seem 
to  have  sat  as  awkwardly  as  on  Mackenzie's  Mar- 
gery Mushroom.  Nor  was  he  himself,  with  all  his 
great  qualities,  free  from  those  weaknesses  which  the 
satirists  of  that  age  represented  as  characteristic  of 
his  whole  class.  In  the  field,  indeed,  his  habits  were 
remarkably  simple.  He  was  constantly  on  horseback, 
was  never  seen  but  in  his  uniform,  never  wore  silk, 
never  entered  a  palanquin,  and  was  content  with  the 
plainest  fare.  But  when  he  was  no  longer  at  the  head 
of  an  army,  he  laid  aside  this  Spartan  temperance  for 
the  ostentatious  luxury  of  a  Sybarite.  Though  his 
person  was  ungraceful,  and  though  his  harsh  fentures 
were  redeemed  from  vuigar  ugliness  only  by  theif 
stern,  dauntless,  and  commanding  expression,  he  was 
fond  of  rich  and  gay  clothing,  and  replenished  his 
wardrobe  with  absurd  profusion.  Sir  John  Malcolm 
gives  us  a  letter  worthy  of  Sir  Matthew  Mite,  «n 


284  LORD  CLIVE. 

which  Clive  orders  "  two  hundred  shirts,  the  be:>t  and 
finest  that  can  be  got  for  love  or  money."  A  few 
follies  of  this  description,  grossly  exaggerated  by 
report,  produced  an  unfavourable  impression  en  the 
public  mind.  But  this  was  not  the  worst.  Black 
stories,  of  which  the  greater  part  were  pure  inventions, 
were  circulated  touching;  his  conduct  in  the  East.  He 

o 

had  to  bear  the  whole  odium,  not  only  of  those  bad 
acts  to  which  he  had  once  or  twice  stooped,  but  of  all 
the  bad  acts  of  all  the  English  in  India,  of  bad  acts 
committed  when  he  was  absent,  nay,  of  bad  acts  which 
he  had  manfully  opposed  and  severely  punished.  The 
very  abuses  against  which  he  had  waged  an  honest, 
resolute,  and  successful  war,  were  laid  to  his  account. 
He  was,  in  fact,  regarded  as  the  personification  of  all 
the  vices  and  weaknesses  wliich  the  public,  with  or 
without  reason,  ascribed  to  the  English  adventurers  in 
Asia.  We  have  .ourselves  heard  old  men,  who  knew 
nothing  of  his  history,  but  who  still  retained  the  pre- 
judices conceived  in  their  youth,  talk  of  him  as  an  in- 
carnate fiend.  Johnson  always  held  this  language. 
Brown,  whom  Clive  employed  to  lay  out  his  pleasure 
grounds,  was  amazed  to  see  in  the  house  of  his  noble 
employer  a  chest  which  had  once  been  filled  with  gold 
from  the  treasury  of  Moorshedabad,  and  could  not 
understand  how  the  conscience  of  the  criminal  could 
sufft  r  him  to  sleep  with  such  an  object  so  near  to  his 
bedchamber.  The  peasantry  of  Surrey  looked  with 
mysterious  horror  on  the  stately  house  which  was 
rising  at  Claremont,  and  whispered  that  the  great 
wicked  lord  had  ordered  the  walls  to  be  made  so  thick 
in  order  to  keep  out  the  devil,  who  would  one  day 
carry  him  away  bodily.  Among  the  gaping  clowns 
who  drank  in  this  frightful  story  was  a  worthless 


LOKD   CLIVE.  285 

ugly  lad  of  the  name  of  Hunt,  since  widely  known  as 
William  Huntington,  S.  S. ;  and  the  superstition  which 
was  strangely  mingled  with  the  knavery  of  that  re- 
markable impostor  seems  to  have  derived  no  small 
nutriment  from  the  tales  which  he  heard  of  the  life  and 
character  of  Clive. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  impulse  which  Clive  had 
given  to  the  administration  of  Bengal  was  constantly 
becoming  fainter  and  fainter.  His  policy  was  to  a 
great  extent  abandoned ;  the  abuses  which  he  had 
suppressed  began  to  revive  ;  and  at  length  the  evils 
which  a  bad  government  had  engendered  were  aggra- 
vated by  one  of  those  fearful  visitations  which  the  best 
government  cannot  avert.  In  the  summer  of  1770, 
the  rains  failed ;  the  earth  was  parched  up  ;  the  tanks 
were  empty ;  the  rivers  shrank  within  their  beds ;  and 
a  famine,  such  as  is  known  only  in  countries  where 
every  household  depends  for  support  on  its  own  little 
patch  of  cultivation,  filled  thev  whole  valley  of  the 
Ganges  with  misery  and  death.  Tender  and  delicate 
women,  whose  veils  had  never  been  lifted  before  the 
public  gaze,  came  forth  from  the  inner  chambers  in 
which  Eastern  jealousy  had  kept  watch  over  their 
beauty,  threw  themselves  on  the  earth  before  the 
passers-by,  and,  with  loud  wailings,  implored  a  handful 
of  rice  for  their  children.  The  Hoogley  every  day 
rolled  down  thousands  of  corpses  close  to  the  porticoea 
and  gardens  of  the  English  conquerors.  The  very 
Btre?ts  of  Calcutta  were  blocked  up  by  the  dying  and 
the  dead.  The  lean  and  feeble  survivors  had  not 
energy  enough  to  bear  the  bodies  of  their  kindred  to 
the  funeral  pile  or  to  the  holy  river,  or  even  to  scare 
away  the  jackals  and  vultures,  who  fed  on  human 
\emains  in  the  face  of  day.  The  extent  of  the  mor- 


286  LORD  CLIVE. 

tality  was  never  ascertained ;  but  it  was  popular!} 
reckoned  by  millions.  This  melancholy  intelligence 
added  to  the  excitement  which  already  prevailed  in 
England  on  Indian  subjects.  The  proprietors  of  East 
India  stock  were  uneasy  about  their  dividends.  All 
men  of  common  humanity  were  touched  by  the  calam- 
ities of  our  unhappy  subjects  ;  and  indignation  KOOU 
began  to  mingle  itself  with  pity.  It  was  rumoured 
that  the  Company's  servants  had  created  the  famine  by 
engrossing  all  the  rice  of  the  country ;  that  they  had 
sold  grain  for  eight,  ten,  twelve  times  the  price  at 
which  they  had  bought  it ;  that  one  English  function- 
ary who,  the  year  before,  was  not  worth  a  hundred 
guineas,  had,  during  that  season  of  misery,  remitted 
sixty  thousand  pounds  to  London.  These  charges  we 
believe  to  have  been  unfounded.  That  servants  of  the 
Company  had  ventured,  since  Clive's  departure,  to 
deal  in  rice,  is  probable.  That,  if  they  dealt  in  rice, 
rhey  must  have  gained  by  the  scarcity,  is  certain. 
But  there  is  no  reason  for  thinking  that  they  either 
produced  or  aggravated  an  evil  which  physical  causes 
sufficiently  explain.  The  outcry  which  was  raised 
against  them  on  this  occasion  was,  we  suspect,  as 
absurd  as  the  imputations  which,  in  times  of  dearth  at 
home,  were  once  thrown  by  statesmen  and  judges,  and 
are  still  thrown  by  two  or  three  old  women,  on  the 
corn  factors.  It  was,  however,  so  loud  and  so  general 
that  it  appears  to  have  imposed  even  on  an  intellect 
raised  so  high  above  vulgar  prejudices  as  that  of  Adam 
Smith.  What  was  still  more  extraordinary,  these 
-.unhappy  events  greatly  increased  the  unpopularity  of 
Lord  Clive.  He  had  been  some  years  in  England 
when  the  famine  took  place.  None  of  his  acts  had  the 
amallest  tendency  to  produce  such  a  calamity.  If  the 


LOKD  CLIVE.  287 

servants  of  the  Company  Lad  traded  in  rice,  they  had 
done  so  in  direct  contravention  of  the  rule  which  ha 
had  laid  doAvn,  and,  while  in  power,  had  resolutely 
enforced.  But,  in  the  eyes  of  his  countrymen,  he  was, 
as  we  have  said,  the  Nabob,  the  Anglo-Indian  char- 
acter personified;  and,  while  he  was  building  and 
planting  in  Surrey,  he  was  held  responsible  for  all  the 
effects  of  a  dry  season  in  Bengal. 

Parliament  had  hitherto  bestowed  very  little  atten- 
tion on  our  Eastern  possessions.  Since  the,  death  of 
George  the  Second,  a  rapid  succession  of  weak  admin- 
istrations, each  of  which  was  in  turn  flattered  and  be- 
trayed by  the  Court,  had  held  the  semblance  of  power. 
Intrigues  in  the  palace,  riots  in  the  capital,  and  insur- 
rectionary movements  in  the  American  colonies,  had 
left  the  advisers  of  the  crown  little  leisure  to  study 
Indian  politics.  When  they  did  interfere,  their  inter- 
ference was  feeble  and  irresolute.  Lord  Chatham,  in- 
deed, during  the  short  period  of  his  ascendency  in  the 
councils  of  George  the  Third,  had  meditated  a  bold 

O  ' 

attack  on  the  Company.  But  his  plans  were  rendered 
abortive  by  the  strange  malady  which  about  that  time 
began  to  overcloud  his  splendid  genius. 

At  length,  in  1772,  it  was  generally  felt  that  Parlia- 
ment could  no  longer  neglect  the  affairs  of  India.  The 
Government  was  stronger  than  any  which  had  held 
power  since  the  breach  between  Mr.  Pitt  and  tho 
gieat  Whig  connection  in  1761.  No  pressing  question 
)f  domestic  or  European  policy  required  the  attention 
of  public  men.  There  was  a  short  and  delusive  lull 
between  two  tempests.  The  excitement  produced  by 
the  Middlesex  election  was  over  ;  the  discontents  of 
America  did  not  yet  threaten  civil  war ;  the  financial 
difficulties  of  the  Company  brought  on  a  crisis ;  the 


£88  LORD  CLIVE. 

Ministers  were  forced  to  take  up  the  subject ;  and  the 
whole  storm,  which  had  long  been  gathering,  now 
broke  at  once  on  the  head  of  Clive. 

His  situation  was  indeed  singularly  unfortunate. 
He  was  hated  throughout  the  country,  hated  at  the 
India  House,  hated,  above  all,  by  those  wealthy  and 
powerful  servants  of  the  Company,  whose  rapacity 
and  tyranny  he  had  withstood.  He  had  to  bear  the 
double  odium  of  his  bad  and  of  his  good  actions,  of 
every  Indian  abuse  and  of  eveiy  Indian  reform.  The 
state  of  the  political  world  was  such  that  he  could 
count  on  the  support  of  no  powerful  connection.  The 
party  to  which  he  had  belonged,  that  of  George  Gren- 
ville,  had  been  hostile  to  the  Government,  and  yet 
had  never  cordially  united  with  the  other  sections  of 
the  Opposition,  with  the  little  band  which  still  fol- 
lowed the  fortunes  of  Lord  Chatham,  or  with  the  large 
and  respectable  body  of  which  Lord  Rockingham  was 
the  acknowledged  leader.  George  Grcnville  was  now 
dead :  his  followers  were  scattered ;  and  Clive,  uncon- 
nected with  any  of  the  powerful  factions  which  divided 
the  Parliament,  could  reckon  only  on  the  votes  of 
those  members  who  were  returned  by  himself.  His 
enemies,  particularly  those  who  were  the  enemies  of 
his  virtues,  were  unscrupulous,  ferocious,  implacable. 
Thoir  malevolence  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the 
utter  rain  of  his  fame  and  fortune.  They  wished  to 
see  him  expelled  from  Parliament,  to  see  his  spurs 
chopped  oif,  to  see  his  estate  confiscated ;  and  it  may 
be  ^doubted  whether  even  such  a  result  as  this  would 
have  quenched  their  thirst  for  revenge. 

dive's  parliamentary  tactics  resembled  his  military 
tactics.  Deserted,  surrounded,  outnumbered,  and  with 
every  thing  at  stake,  he  did  not  even  deign  to  stand 


LORD  CLIVE.  239 

on  the  defensive,  but  pushed  boldly  forward  to  th« 
attack.  At  an  early  stage  of  the  discussions  on  In- 
dian affairs  he  rose,  and  in  a  long  and  elaborate  speech 
vindicated  himself  from  a  large  part  of  the  accusations 
which  had  been  brought  against  him.  He  is  said  to 
have  produced  a  great  impression  on  his  audience. 
Lord  Chatham,  who,  now  the  ghost  of  his  former  self, 
loved  to  haunt  the  scene  of  his  glory,  was  that  night 
under  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  de- 
clared that  he  had  never  heard  a  finer  speech.  It 
was  subsequently  printed  under  dive's  direction,  and, 
when  the  fullest  allowance  has  been  made  for  the 
assistance  which  he  may  have  obtained  from  literary 
friends,  proves  him  to  have  possessed,  not  merely 
strong  sense  and  a  manly  spirit,  but  talents  both  for 
disquisition  and  declamation  which  assiduous  culture 
might  have  improved  into  the  highest  excellence.  He 
confined  his  defence  on  this  occasion  to  the  measures 
of  his  last  administration,  and  succeeded  so  far  that  his 
enemies  thenceforth  thought  it  expedient  to  direct  their 
attacks  chiefly  against  the  earlier  part  of  his  life. 

The  earlier  part  of  his  life  unfortunately  presented 
some  assailable  points  to  their  hostility.  A  committee 
Was  chosen  by  ballot  to  inquire  into  the  affairs  of  India  ; 
and  by  this  committee  the  whole  history  of  that  great 
revolution  which  threw  down  Surajah  Dowlah  and 
raised  Meer  Jaffier  was  sifted  with  malignant  care. 
Clive  was  subjected  to  the  most  unsparing  examination 
and  cross-examination,  and  afterwards  bitterly  com- 
plained that  he,  the  Baron  of  Plassey,  had  been  treated 
\ike  a  sheep-steal er.  The  boldness  and  ingenuousness 
of  his  replies  would  alone  suffice  to  show  how  alien 
from  his  nature  were  the  frauds  to  which,  in  the  course 
>f  his  eastern  negotiations,  he  had  sometimes  descended, 

VOL.   IV  13 


290  LORD  CLIVE. 

He  avowed  the  arts  which  he  had  employed  to  deceive 
Omiclmnd,  and  resolutely  said  that  he  was 'not  ashamed 
of  them,  and  that,  in  the  same  circumstances,  lit  would 
again  act  in  the  same  manner.  He  admitted  that  he 
had  received  immense  sums  from  Meer  Jaffier  ;  but  he 
denied  that,  in  doing  so,  he  had  violated  any  obligation 
of  morality  or  honour.  He  laid  claim,  on  the  contrary, 
and  not  without  some  reason,  to  the  praise  of  eminent 
disinterestedness.  He  described  in  vivid  language  the 
situation  in  which  his  victory  had  placed  him  ;  great 
princes  dependent  on  his  pleasure ;  an  opulent  city 
afraid  of  being  given  up  to  plunder  ;  wealthy  bankers 
bidding  against  each  other  for  his  smiles  ;  vaults  piled 
with  gold  and  jewels  thrown  open  to  him  alone.  "  By 
God,  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  exclaimed,  "at  this  moment 
I  stand  astonished  at  my  own  moderation." 

The  inquiry  was  so  extensive  that  the  House  rose 
before  it  had  been  completed.  It  was  continued  in  the 
following  session.  When  at  length  the  committee  had 
concluded  its  labours,  enlightened  and  impartial  men 
had  little  difficulty  in  making  up  their  minds  as  to  the 
result.  It  was  clear  that  Clive  had  been  guilty  of 
some  acts  which  it  is  impossible  to  vindicate  without 
attacking  the  authority  of  all  the  most  sacred  laws 
nrhich  regulate  the  intercourse  of  individuals  and/  of 
states.  But  it  was  equally  clear  that  he  had  displayed 
great  talents,  and  even  great  virtues  ;  that  he  had  ren- 
fored  eminent  services  both  to  liis  country  and  to  the 
people  of  India  ;  and  that  it  was  in  truth  not  for  his 
dealings  with  Meer  Jaffier,  nor  for  the  fraud  which  he 
had  practised  on  Omiclmnd,  but  for  his  determined  re- 
sistance to  avarice  and  tyranny,  that  he  was  now  called 
in  question. 

Ordinary  criminal  justice  knows  nothing  of  set-oft 


LOKD  CLIVE.  291 

The  greatest  desert  cannot  be  pleaded  in  answer  to  a 
charge  of  the  slightest  transgression.  If  a  man  lias  sold 
beer  on  Sunday  morning,  it  is  no  defence  that  he  has 
saved  the  life  of  a  fellow-creatnre  at  the  risk  of  his  own. 
If  he  has  harnessed  a  Newfoundland  dog  to  his  little 
child's  carriage,  it  is  no  defence  that  he  was  wounded 
at  Waterloo.  But  it  is  not  in  this  way  that  AVC  ought 
to  deal  with  men  who,  raised  far  above  ordinary  re- 
straints, and  tried  by  far  more  than  ordinary  temptations, 
are  entitled  to  a  more  than  ordinary  measure  of  indul- 
gence. Such  men  should  be  judged  by  their  contem- 
poraries as  they  will  be  judged  by  posterity.  Their 
bad  actions  ought  not,  indeed,  to  be  called  good  ;  but 
their  good  and  bad  actions  ought  to  be  fairly  weighed  : 
and  if  on  the  whole  the  good  preponderate,  the  sentence 
ought  to  be  one,  not  merely  of  acquittal,  but  of  appro- 
bation. Not  a  single  great  ruler  in  history  can  be  ab- 
solved by  a  judge  who  fixes  his  eye  inexorably  on  one 
or  two  unjustifiable  acts.  Bruce  the  deliverer  of  Scot- 
land, Maurice  the  deliverer  of  Germany,  William  the 
deliverer  of  Holland,  his  great  descendant  the  deliverer 
of  England,  Murray  the  good  regent,  Cosmo  the  father 
of  his  country,  Henry  the  Fourth  of  France,  Peter  the 
Great  of  Russia,  how  would  the  best  of  them  pass  such 
a  scrutiny?  History  takes  wider  views;  and  the  best 
iribunal  for  great  political  cases  is  the  tribunal  which 
Anticipates  the  verdict  of  history. 

Reasonable  and  moderate  men  of  all  parties  felt  this 
•*n  Olive's  case.  They  could  not  pronounce  him  blame- 
tesf  ;  but  they  were  not  disposed  to  abandon  him  to  that 
low-minded  and  rancorous  pack  who  had  run  him  down 
and  were  eager  to  worry  him  to  death.  Lord  North, 
jhough  not  very  friendly  to  him,  was  not  disposed  to 
^o  to  extremities  against  him.  While  the  inquiry  waa 


292  LORD  CLIVE. 

Btill  in  progress,  Cllve,  who  had  some  years  before  buen 
created  a  Knight  of  the  Bath,  was  installed  with  great 
pomp  in  Henry  the  Seventh's  Chapel.  He  was  soon 
after  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Shropshire.  When 
he  kissed  hands,  George  the  Third,  who  had  always 
been  partial  to  him,  admitted  him  to  a  private  audience, 
talked  to  him  half  an  hour  on  Indian  politics,  and  was 
visibly  affected  when  the  persecuted  general  spoke  of  his 
services  and  of  the  way  in  which  they  had  been  requited. 

At  length  the  charges  came  in  a  definite  form  before 
the  House  of  Commons.  Burgoyne,  chairman  of  the 
committee,  a  man  of  wit,  fashion,  and  honour,  an 
agreeable  dramatic  writer,  an  officer  whose  courage 
was  never  questioned,  and  whose  skill  was  at  that  time 
highly  esteemed,  appeared  as  the  accuser.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  administration  took  different  sides ;  for  in 
that  age  all  questions  were  open  questions,  except  such 
as  were  brought  forward  by  the  Government,  or  such 
as  implied  some  censure  on  the  Government.  Thur- 
low,  the  Attorney  General,  was  among  the  assailants. 
Wedderburne,  the  Solicitor  General,  strongly  attached 
to  Clive,  defended  his  friend  with  extraordinary  force 
of  argument  and  language.  It  is  a  curious  circum- 
stance that,  some  years  later,  Thurlow  was  the  most 
conspicuous  champion  of  Warren  Hastings,  while  Wred  • 
derburne  was  among  the  most  unrelenting  persecutors 
of  that  great  though  not  faultless  statesman.  Clive 
Bpoke  in  his  own  defence  at  less  length  and  with  less 
art  than  in  the  preceding  year,  but  with  much  energy 
&nd  pathos.  He  recounted  his  great  actions  and  his 
^vrongs  ;  and,  after  bidding  his  hearers  remember,  that 
they  were  about  to  decide  not  only  on  his  honour  but 
an  their  own,  he  retired  from  the  House. 

The  Commons  resolved  that  acquisitions  rjade  bt 


LORD  CLIVE.  293 

the  arms  of  the  State  belong  to  the  State  alone,  and 
that  it  is  illegal  in  the  servants  of  the  State  to  appro- 
priate such  acquisitions  to  themselves.  They  resolved 
that  this  wholesome  rule  appeared  to  have  been  sys- 
tematically violated  by  the  English  functionaries  in 
Bengal.  On  a  subsequent  day  they  went  a  step  farther, 
and  resolved  that  Clive  had,  by  means  of  the  power 
which  he  possessed  as  commander  of  the  British  forces 
in  India,  obtained  large  sums  from  Meer  Jaffier.  Here 
the  Commons  stopped.  They  had  voted  the  major  and 
minor  of  Burgoyne's  syllogism  ;  but  they  shrank  from 
drawing  the  logical  conclusion.  When  it  was  moved 
that  Lord  Clive  had  abused  his  powers,  and  set  an  evil 
example  to  the  servants  of  the  public,  the  previous 
question  was  put  and  earned.  At  length,  long  after 
the  sun  had  risen  on  an  animated  debate,  Wedderburne 
moved  that  Lord  Clive  had  at  the  same  time  rendered 
great  and  meritorious  services  to  his  country  ;  and  this 
motion  passed  without  a  division. 

The  result  of  this  memorable  inquiry  appears  to  us, 
on  the  whole,  honourable  to  the  justice,  moderation,  and 
discernment  of  the  Commons.  They  had  indeed  no 
great  temptation  to  do  wrong.  They  would  have  been 
very  bad  judges  of  an  accusation  brought  against  Jen- 
Id  nson  or  against  Wilkes.  But  the  question  respecting 
Olive  was  not  a  party  question  ;  and  the  House  accord- 
ingly acted  with  the  good  sense  and  good  feeling  which 
may  always  be  expected  from  an  assembly  of  English 
gentlemen  not  blinded  by  faction. 

The  equitable  and  temperate  proceedings  of  tha 
British  Parliament  were  set  off  to  the  greatest  advan- 

O 

*age  by  a  foil.  The  wretched  government  of  Lewis 
the  Fifteenth  had  murdered,  directly  or  indirectly, 
almost  every  Frenchman  who  had  served  his  country 


LORD  CLIVE. 


with  distinction  in  the  East.  Labourdonnais  was 
into  the  Bastile,  and,  after  years  of  suffering,  left  it 
only  to  die.  Dupleix,  stripped  of  his  immense  fortune, 
and  broken-hearted  by  humiliating  attendance  in  ante- 
chambers, sank  into  an  obscure  grave.  Lally  was 
dragged  to  the  common  place  of  execution  with  a  gag 
between  his  lips.  The  Commons  of  England,  on  the 
other  hand,  treated  their  living  captain  with  that  dis- 
criminating justice  which  is  seldom  shown  except  to  the 
dead.  They  laid  down  sound  general  principles  ;  they 
delicately  pointed  out  where  he  had  deviated  from  those 
principles  ;  and  they  tempered  the  gentle  censure  with 
liberal  eulogy.  The  contrast  struck  Voltaire,  always 
partial  to  England,  and  always  eager  to  expose  the 
abuses  of  the  Parliaments  of  France.  Indeed  he  seems, 
at  this  time,  to  have  meditated  a  history  of  the  conquest 
of  Bengal.  He  mentioned  his  design  to  Dr.  Moore 
when  that  amusing  writer  visited  him  at  Ferney. 
"Wedderburne  took  great  interest  in  the  matter,  and 
pressed  Clive  to  furnish  materials.  Had  the  plan  been 
carried  into  execution,  we  have  no  doubt  that  Voltaire 
would  have  produced  a  book  containing  much  lively 
and  picturesque  narrative,  many  just  and  humane 
sentiments  poignantly  expressed,  many  grotesque  blun- 
ders, many  sneers  at  the  Mosaic  chronology,  much 
scandal  about  the  Catholic  missionaries,  and  much 
sublime  theo-philanthropy,  stolen  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  put  into  the  mouths  of  virtuous  and  philo- 
sophical Brahmins. 

Clive  was  now  secure  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  fortune 
and  his  honours.  He  was  surrounded  by  attached 
friends  and  relations  ;  and  he  had  not  yet  passed  the 
season  of  vigorous  bodily  and  mental  exertion.  But 
douds  had  long  been  gathering  over  his  mind,  and  new 


LORD  CLIVE.  295 

settled  on  it  in  thick  darkness.  From  early  youth  he 
had  heen  subject  to  fits  of  that  strange  melancholy 
"  which  rejoiceth  exceedingly  and  is  glad  when  it  car. 
find  the  crave."  While  still  a  writer  at  Madras,  he  had 

O  ' 

twice  attempted  to  destroy  himself.  Business  and  pros- 
perity had  produced  a  salutary  effect  on  his  spirits.  In 
India,  while  he  was  occupied  by  great  affairs,  in  Eng- 
land, while  wealth  and  rank  had  still  the  charm  of  nov- 
elty, he  had  borne  up  against  his  constitutional  misery. 
But  he  had  now  nothing  to  do  and  nothing  to  wish  for. 
His  active  spirit  in  an  inactive  situation  drooped  and 
withered  like  a  plant  in  an  uncongenial  air.  The  ma- 
lignity with  which  his  enemies  had  pursued  him,  the 
indifmitv  with  which  he  had  been  treated  by  the  com- 

O          «/  J 

inittee,  the  censure,  lenient  as  it  was,  which  the  House 
of  Commons  had  pronounced,  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  regarded  by  a  large  portion  of  his  countrymen  as 
a  cruel  and  perfidious  tyrant,  all  concurred  to  irritate 
and  depress  him.  In  the  mean  time  his  temper  was 
tried  by  acute  physical  suffering.  During  liis  long  resi- 
dence in  tropical  climates,  he  had  contracted  several 
painful  distempers.  In  order  to  obtain  ease  he  called  in 
the  help  of  opium ;  and  he  was  gradually  enslaved  by 
vhis  treacherous  ally.  To  the  last,  however,  his  genius 
occasionally  flashed  through  the  gloom.  It  was  said 
that  he  would  sometimes,  after  sitting  silent  and  torpid 
for  hours,  rouse  himself  to  the  discussion  of  some  great 
question,  would  display  in  full  vigour  all  the  talents  of 
the  soldier  and  the  statesmart,  and  would  then  sink  back 
into  h:s  melancholy  repose. 

The  disputes  with  America  had  now  become  so  seri- 
DUS  that  an  appeal  to  the  sword  seemed  inevitable ;  and 
che  Ministers  were  desirous  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
services  of  Clive.  Had  he  still  been  what  he  was  when 


296  LORD  CLIVE. 

he  raised  the  siejie  of  Pntna,  and  annihilated  the  Dutch 

O  7 

army  and  navy  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ganges,  it  is  not 
Improbable  that  the  resistance  of  the  Colonists  would 
have  been  pnt  down,  and  that  the  inevitable  separation 
would  have  been  deferred  for  a  few  years.  But  it  was 
too  late.  His  strong  mind  was  fast  sinking  under  many 
kinds  of  suffering;.  On  the  twenty-second  of  Novem- 

O  v 

ber,  1774,  he  died  by  his  own  hand.  He  had  just  com- 
pleted Hs  forty-ninth  year. 

In  the  awful  close  of  so  much  prosperity  and  glory, 
the  vulgar  saw  only  a  confirmation  of  all  their  preju- 
dices ;  and  some  men  of  real  piety  and  genius  so  far 
forgot  the  maxims  both  of  religion  and  of  philosophy  as 
confidently  to  ascribe  the  mournful  event  to  the  just 
vengeance  of  God,  and  to  the  horrors  of  an  evil  con- 
science. It  is  with  very  different  feelings  that  we  con- 
template the  spectacle  of  a  great  mind  ruined  by  the 
•weariness  of  satiety,  by  the  pangs  of  wounded  honour, 
by  fatal  diseases,  and  more  fatal  remedies. 
f  Clive  committed  great  faults ;  and  we  have  not  at- 
tempted to  disguise  them.  But  his  faults,  when  weighed 
against  his  merits,  and  viewed  in  connection  with  his 
temptations,  do  not  appear  to  us  to  deprive  him  of  hi3 
right  to  an  honourable  place  in  the  estimation  of  pos- 
terity. 

From  his  first  visit  to  India  dates  the  renown  of  the 
English  arms  in  the  East.  Till  he  appeared,  his  coun- 
trymen were  despised  as  mere  pedlars,  while  the  French 
were  revered  as  a  people  formed  for  victory  and  coin- 
jiand.  His  courage  and  capacity  dissolved  the  charm. 
With  the  defence  of  Arcot  commences  that  long  series 
of  Oriental  triumph  which  closes  with  the  fall  of  Ghizni. 
Nor  must  we  forget  that  he  was  only  twenty-five  years 
old  when  he  approved  himself  ripe  for  military  com- 


LORD  CLIVE.  297 

maud.  This  is  a  rare  if  not  a  singj^ar  distinction.  It 
is  tme  that  Alexander,  Coiide",  and  Charles  the  Twelfth, 
won  great  battles  at  a  still  earlier  age;  but  those 
princes  were  surrounded  by  veteran  generals  of  distin- 
guished skill,  to  whose  suggestions  must  be  attributed 
the  victories  of  the  Granicus,  of  Rocroi,  and  of  Narva. 
Clive,  an  inexperienced  youth,  had  yet  more  experi- 
ence than  any  of  those  who  served  under  him.  He 
had  to  form  himself,  to  form  his  officers,  and  to  form 
his  army.  The  only  man,  as  far  as  we  recollect,  who 
at  an  equally  early  age  ever  gave  equal  proof  of  talents 
for  war,  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

From  Olive's  second  visit  to  India  dates  the  political 
ascendency  of  the  English  in  that  country.  His  dex- 
terity and  resolution  realised,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months,  more  than  all  the  gorgeous  visions  which  had 
floated  before  the  imagination  of  Dupleix.  Such  an 
extent  of  cultivated  territory,  such  an  amount  of  reve- 
nue, such  a  multitude  of  subjects,  wras  nevcfr  added  to 
the  dominion  of  Rome  by  the  most  successful  procon- 
sul. Nor  were  such  wealthy  spoils  ever  borne  under 
arches  of  triumph,  down  the  Sacred  Way,  and  through 
the  crowded  Forum,  to  the  threshold  of  Tarpeian  Jove. 
The  fame  of  those  who  subdued  Antioclms  and  Ti- 
granes  grows  dim  when  compared  with  the  splendour 
of  the  exploits  which  the  young  English  adventurer 
achieved  at  the  head  of  an  army  not  equal  in  numbers 
to  one  half  of  a  Roman  legion. 

From  Olive's  third  visit  to  India  dates  the  purity  of 

Mr  Eastern  empire.  When  he  landed  in  Calcutta  in 
ITC5,  Bengal  was  regarded  as  a  place  to  which  Eng- 
isliLisn  were  sent  only  to  get  rich,  by  any  means,  in 

jie  shortest  possible  time.  He  first  made  dauntless 
ind  unsparing  war  on  that  gigantic  system  of  oppres-- 


298  LORD  CL1YE. 

sion,  extortion,  aiftl  corruption.  In  that  war  he  man- 
fully put  to  hazard  his  ease,  his  fame,  and  his  splendid 
fortune.  The  same  sense  of  justice  which  forbids  us  to 
conceal  or  extenuate  the  faults  of  his  earlier  days  com- 
pels us  to  admit  that  those  faults  were  nobly  repaired. 
If  the  reproach  of  the  Company  and  of  its  servants  has 
been  taken  away,  if  in  India  the  yoke  of  foreign  mas- 
ters, elsewhere  the  heaviest  of  all  yokes,  has  been  found 
lighter  than  that  of  any  native  dynasty,  if  to  that  gang 
of  public  robbers,  which  formerly  spread  terror  through 
the  whole  plain  of  Bengal,  has  succeeded  a  body  of 
functionaries  not  more  highly  distinguished  by  ability 
and  diligence  than  by  integrity,  disinterestedness,  and 
public  spirit,  if  we  now  see  such  men  as  Munro,  El- 
phmstone,  and  Metcalfe,  after  leading  victorious  armies, 
after  making  and  deposing  kings,  return,  proud  of  their 
honourable  poverty,  from  a  land  which  once  held  out 
to  every  greedy  factor  the  hope  of  boundless  wealth, 
the  praise  is  in  no  small  measure  due  to  Clive.  His 
name  stands  high  on  the  roll  of  conquerors.  But  it  is 
found  in  a  better  list,  in  the  list  of  those  who  have 
done  and  suffered  much  for  the  happiness  of  mankind. 
To  the  warrior,  history  will  assign  a  place  in  the  samu 
rank  with  Lucullus  and  Trajan.  Nor  will  she  deni 
to  the  reformer  a  share  of  that  veneration  with  which 
France  cherishes  the  memory  of  Turgot,  and  with 
which  the  latest  generations  of  Hindoos  will  contem 
plate  the  statue  of  Lord  William  Bentinck. 


VON  EANKE.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  October,  1840.^ 

IT  is  hardly  necessary  for  us  to  say  that  this  is  an 
excellent  book  excellently  translated.  The  original 
work  of  Professor  Ranke  is  known  and  esteemed  wher- 
ever German  literature  is  studied,  and  has  been  found 
interesting  even  in  a  most  inaccurate  and  dishonest 
French  version.  It  is,  indeed,  the  work  of  a  mind  fitted 
both  for  minute  researches  and  for  large  speculations. 
It  is  written  also  in  an  admirable  spirit,  equally  remote 
from  levity  and  bigotry,  serious  and  earnest,  yet  toler- 
ant and  impartial.  It  is,  therefore,  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  that  we  now  see  this  book  take  its  place  among 
the  English  classics.  Of  the  translation  we  need  only 
say  that  it  is  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the 
skill,  the  taste,  and  the  scrupulous  integrity  of  the- 
accomplished  lady  who,  as  an  interpreter  between  the 
mind  of  Germany  and  the  mind  of  Britain,  has  already 
deserved  so  well  of  both  countries. 

The  subject  of  this  book  has  always  appeared  to  us 

singularly  interesting.     How  it  was  that  Protestantism 

-did  so  much,  yet  did  no  more,  how  it  was  that  the 


1  The  Ecclesiastical  and  Political  History  of  tlie  Pnpes  of  Rome,  during 
tie  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries.  By  LEOPOLD  RANK.K,  Professor 
ui  the  University  of  Berlin:  Translated  fixm  the  German,  by  SARAH 
3  vols.  8vo.  London:  1840. 


300  RAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

• 

Church  of  Rome,  having  lost  a  large  part  of  Europe, 
not  only  ceased  to  lose,  but  actually  regained  nearly 
half  of  what  she  had  lost,  is  certainly  a  most  curious 
and  important  question ;  and  on  this  question  Professor 
Ranke  has  thrown  far  more  light  than  any  other  person 
who  has  written  on  it. 

There  is  not,  and  there  never  was  on  this  earth,  a 
work  of  human  policy  so  we'll  deserving  of  examination 
as  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  The  history  of  that 
Church  joins  together  the  two  great  ages  of  human  civ- 
ilisation. No  other  institution  is  left  standing  which 
carries  the  mind  hack  to  the  times  when  the  smoke  of 
sacrifice  rose  from  the  Pantheon,  and  when  camelopards 
and  -tigers  bounded  in  the  Flavian  amphitheatre.  The 
proudest  royal  houses  are  but  of  yesterday,  when  com- 
pared with  the  line  of  the  Supreme  Pontiffs.  Thav 
line  we  trace  back  in  an  unbroken  series  from  the  Pope 
who  crowned  Napoleon  in  the  nineteenth  century  to 
the  Pope  who  crowned  Pepin  in  the  eighth  ;  and  far 
beyond  the  time  of  Pepin  the  august  dynasty  extends, 
till  it  is  lost  in  the  twilight  of  fable.  The  republic  of 
Venice  came  next  in  antiquity.  But  the  republic  of 
Venice  was  modern  when  compared  with  the  Papacy  ; 
und  the  republic  of  Venice  is  gone,  and  the  Papacy  re- 
mains. The  Papacy  remains,  not  in  decay,  not  a  mere 
antique,  but  full  of  life  and  useful  vigour.  The  Cath- 
olic Church  is  still  sending  forth  to  the  farthest  ends  of 
the  \vorld  missionaries  as  zealous  as  those  who  landed 
in  Kent  with  Augustin,  and  still  confronting  hostile 
kings  with  the  same  spirit  with  which  she  confronted 
Attila,  The  number  of  her  children  is  greater  than  in 
any  former  age.  Her  acquisitions  in  the  New  World 
have  more  than  compensated  for  what  she  has  lost  in 
the  Old.  Her  spiritual  ascendency  extends  over  the 


RAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  SOI 

vast  countries  which  lie  between  the  plains  of  the  Mis- 
souri and  Cape  Horn,  countries  which,  a  century  hence, 
may  not  improbably  contain  a  population  as  large  as 
that  which  now  inhabits  Europe.  The  members  of  her 
communion  are  certainly  not  fewer  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  millions ;  and  it  will  be  difficult  to  show  that  all 
other  Christian  sects  united  amount  to  a  hundred  and 
twenty  millions.  Nor  do  we  see  any  sign  which  indi- 
cates that  the  term  of  her  long  dominion  is  approaching. 
She  saw  the  commencement  of  all  the  governments  and 
of  all  the  ecclesiastical  establishments  that  now  exist  in 
the  world  ;  and  we  feel  no  assurance  that  she  is  not 
destined  to  see  the  end  of  them  all.  She  was  great 
and  respected  before  the  Saxon  had  set  foot  on  Britain, 
before  the  Frank  had  passed  the  Rhine,  when  Grecian 
eloquence  still  nourished  in  Antioch,  when  idols  were 
still  worshipped  in  the  temple  of  Mecca.  And  she  may 
still  exist  in  undiminished  vigour  when  some  traveller 
from  New  Zealand  shall,  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  solitude, 
take  his  stand  on  a  broken  arch  of  London  Bridge  to 
sketch  the  ruins  of  St.  Paul's. 

We  often  hear  it  said  that  the  world  is  constantly 
becoming  more  and  more  enlightened,  and  that  this  en- 
lightening must  be  favourable  to  Protestantism,  and  un- 
favourable to  Catholicism.  We  wish  that  we  could 
think  so.  But  we  see  great  reason  to  doubt  whether 
this  be  a  well  founded  expectation.  We  see  that  dur- 
ing the  last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  human 
mind  has  been  in  the  highest  degree  active,  that  it  has 
made  great  advances  in  every  branch  of  natural  philos- 
ophy, that  it  has  produced  innumerable  inventions  tend- 
ing to  promote  the  convenience  of  life,  that  medicine, 
lurgery,  chemistry,  engineering,  have  been  very  greatly 
unproved,  that  government,  police,  and  law  have  been 


802  RANKE'S  HISTORY"  OF  THE  POi'ES. 

improved,  though  not  to  so  great  an  extent  as  the  physi- 
cal sciences.  But  we  see  that,  during  these  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years,  Protestantism  has  made  no  con- 
quests worth  speaking  of.  Nay,  we  believe  that,  as  far 
as  there  has  been  a  change,  that  change  has,  on  the 
whole,  been  in  favour  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  We 
cannot,  therefore,  feel  confident  that  the  progress  of 
knowledge  will  necessarily  be  fatal  to  a  system  which 
has,  to  say  the  least,  stood  its  ground  in  spite  of  the 
immense  progress  made  by  the  human  race  in  knowl- 
edge since  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Indeed  the  argument  which  we  are  considering, 
seems  to  us  to  be  founded  on  an  entire  mistake.  There 
are  branches  of  knowledge  with  respect  to  which  the 
law  of  the  human  mind  is  progress.  In  mathematics, 
when  once  a  proposition  has  been  demonstrated,  it  is 
never  afterwards  contested.  Every  fresh  story  is  as 
solid  a  basis  for  a  new  superstructure  as  the  original 
foundation  was.  Here,  therefore,  there  is  a  constant 
addition  to  the  stock  of  truth.  In  the  inductive  sci- 
ences again,  the  law  is  progress.  Every  day  furnishes 
new  facts,  and  thus  brings  theory  nearer  and  nearer  to 
perfection.  There  is  no  chance  that,  either  in  the 
purely  demonstrative,  or  in  the  purely  experimcnta/ 
sciences,  the  world  will  ever  go  back  or  even  remain 
stationary.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  a  reaction  against 
Taylor's  theorem,  or  of  a  reaction  against  Harvey's 
doctrine  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 

But  with  theology  the  case  is  very  different.  As 
respects  natural  religion,  —  revelation  being  for  the 
present  altogether  left  out  of  the  question,  —  it  is  not 
easy  to  see  that  a  philosopher  of  the  present  day  is 
more  favourably  situated  than  Thales  or  Simon  ides. 
tie  has  before  him  just  the  same  evidences  of  design 


RANKE'S  HISTOR1    0*   THE  POPES,  303 

in  the  structure  of  the  universe  which  the  early  Greek' 
had.  We  say  just  the  same  ;  for  the  discoveries  oi 
modern  astronomers  and  anatomists  have  really  added 
nothing  to  the  force  of  that  argument  which  a  reflect- 
ing mind  finds  in  every  beast,  bird,  insect,  fish,  leaf, 
flower,  and  shell.  The  reasoning  by  which  Socrates, 
in  Xenophon's  hearing,  confuted  the  little  atheist  Aris- 
todeinus,  is  exactly  the  reasoning  of  Paley's  Natural 
Theology.  Socrates  makes  precisely  the  same  use  of 
the  statues  of  Polycletus  and  the  pictures  of  Zeuxis 
which  Paley  makes  of  the  watch.  As  to  the  other 
great  question,  the  question,  what  becomes  of  man  after 
death,  we  do  not  see  that  a  highly  educated  European, 
left  to  his  unassisted  reason,  is  more  likely  to  be  in  the 
right  than  a  Blackfoot  Indian.  Not  a  single  one  of  the 
many  sciences  in  which  we  surpass  the  Blackfoot  In- 
dians throws  the  smallest  light  on  the  state  of  the  soul 
after  the  animal  life  is  extinct.  In  truth  all  the  philos- 
ophers, ancient  and  modern,  who  have  attempted, 
without  the  help  of  revelation,  to  prove  the  immortality 
of  man,  from  Plato  down  to  Franklin,  appear  to  us  tc 
have  failed  deplorably. 

Then,  again,  all  the  great  enigmas  which  perplex 
the  natural  theologian  are  the  same  in  all  ages.  The 
ingenuity  of  a  people  just  emerging  from  barbarism  is 
quite  sufficient  to  propound  those  enigmas.  The  genius 
of  Locke  or  Clai'ke  is  quite  unable  to  solve  them. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  imagine  that  subtle  speculations 
touching  the  Divine  attributes,  the  origin  of  evil,  the 
necessity  of  human  actions,  the  foundation  of  moral 
obligation,  imply  any  high  degree  of  intellectual  cul- 
ture. Such  speculations,  on  the  contrary,  are  in  a 
peculiar  manner  the  delight  of  intelligent  children  and 
T>f  half  civilised  men.  The  number  of  boys  is  not 


S04  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  TILE  POPES. 

Binall  who,  at  fourteen,  have  thought  enough  on  these 
questions  to  be  fully  entitled  to  the  praise,  which  Vol- 
taire gives  to  Zadig.  "  II  en  savait  ce  qu'on  en  a  su 
dans  tons  les  ages;  c'est-a-dire,  fort  peu  de  chose." 
The  book  of  Job  shows  that,  long  before  letters  and 
arts  were  known  to  Ionia,  these  vexing  questions  were 
debated  with  no  common  skill  and  eloquence,  under 
the  tents  of  the  Idumean  Emirs  ;  nor  has  human  reason, 
in  the  course  of  three  thousand  years,  discovered  any 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  riddles  which  perplexed 
Eliphaz  and  Zophar. 

Natural  theology,  then,  is  not  a  progressive  science. 
That  knowledge  of  our  origin  and  of  our  destiny 
which  we  derive  from  revelation  is  indeed  of  very 
different  clearness,  and  of  very  different  importance. 
But  neither  is  revealed  religion  of  the  nature  of  a 
progressive  science.  All  Divine  truth  is,  according 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  Protestant  Churches,  recorded 
in  certain  books.  It  is  equally  open  to  all  who,  in 
any  age,  can  read  those  books  ;  nor  can  all  the  dis- 
coveries of  all  the  philosophers  in  the  world  add  a 
single  verse  to  any  of  those  books.  It  is  plain, 
therefore,  that  in  divinity  there  cannot  be  a  progress 
analogous  to  that  which  is  constantly  taking  place  in 
pharmacy,  geology,  and  navigation.  A  Christian  of 
the  fifth  century  with  a  Bible  is  neither  better  nor 
worse  situated  than  a  Christian  of  the  nineteenth  cei> 
tury  with  a  Bible,  candour  and  natural  acuteness  being, 
of  course,  supposed  equal.  It  matters  not  at  all  that 
the  compass,  printing,  gunpowder,  steam,  gas,  vaccina- 
tion, and  a  thousand  other  discoveries  and  inventions, 
which  were  unknown  in  the  fifth  century,  are  familiar 
to  the  nineteenth .  None  of  these  discoveries  and  in« 
Mentions  has  the  smallest  bearing  on  the  question 


KANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  TOPES.  805 

whether  man  is  justified  by  faith  alone,  or  whether  the 
invocation  of  saints  is  an  orthodox  practice.  It  seems 
to  us,  therefore,  that  we  have  no  security  for  the  future 
ogainst  the  prevalence  of  any  theological  error  that 
ever  has  prevailed  in  time  past  among  Christian  men. 
We  are  confident  that  the  world  will  never  go  back  to 
the  solar  system  of  Ptolemy ;  nor  is  our  confidence  in 
the  least  shaken  by  the  circumstance,  that  even  so 
great  a  man  as  Bacon  rejected  the  theory  of  Galileo 
with  scorn ;  for  Bacon  had  not  all  the  means  of  ar- 
riving at  a  sound  conclusion  which  are  within  our 
reach,  and  which  secure  people  who  would  not  have 
been  worthy  to  mend  his  pens  from  falling  into  his  mis- 
takes. But  when  we  reflect  that  Sir  Thomas  More 
was  ready  to  die  for  the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation, 
we  cannot  but  feel  some  doubt  whether  the  doctrine  of 
transubstantiation  may  not  triumph  over  all  opposition. 
More  was  a  man  of  eminent  talents.  He  had  all  the 
information  on  the  subject  that  we  have,  or  that,  while 
the  world  lasts,  any  human  being  will  have.  The  text, 
"  This  is  my  body,"  was  in  his  New  Testament  as  it  is 
hi  ours.  The  absurdity  of  the  literal  interpretation 
was  as  great  and  as  obvious  in  the  sixteenth  century  as 
it  is  now.  No  progress  that  science  has  made,  or  will 
make,  can  add  to  what  seems  to  us  the  overwhelming 
force  of  the  argument  against  the  real  presence.  We 
are,  therefore,  unable  to  understand  why  what  Sir 
Thomas  More  believed  respecting  transubstantiation 
may  not  be  believed  to  the  end  of  time  by  men  equal 
in  abilities  and  honesty  to  Sir  Thomas  More.  But  Sir 
Thomas  More  is  one  of  the  choice  specimens  of  human 
wisd  Din  and  virtue  ;  and  the  doctrine  of  transubstan- 
tiation is  a  kind  of  proof  charge.  A  faith  which  stands 
Uiat  test  will  stand  any  test.  The  prophecies  of  Broth- 


806  BAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

ers  and  the  miracles  of  Prince  Holienlolie  sink  to  tiifleg 
in  the  comparison. 

One  reservation,  indeed,  must  be  made.  The  books 
and  traditions  of  a  sect  may  contain,  mingled  with 
propositions  strictly  theological,  other  propositions,  pur- 
porting to  rest  on  the  same  authority,  which  relate  to 
physics.  If  new  discoveries  should  throw  discredit  en 
the  physical  propositions,  the  theological  proposition?, 
unless  they  can  be  separated  from  the  physical  proposi- 
tions, will  share  in  that  discredit.  In  this  way,  un- 
doubtedly, the  progress  of  science  may  indirectly  servo 
the  cause  of  religious  truth.  The  Hindoo  mythology, 
for  example,  is  bound  up  with  a  most  absurd  geography. 
Every  young  Brahmin,  therefore,  who  learns  geography 
in  oar  colleges,  learns  to  smile  at  the  Hindoo  mythol- 
ogy. If  Catholicism  has  not  suffered  to  an  equal  degree 
from  the  Papal  decision  that  the  sun  goes  round  the 
earth,  this  is  because  all  intelligent  Catholics  now  hold, 
with  Pascal,  that,  in  deciding  the  point  at  all,  the 
Church  exceeded  her  powers,  and  was,  therefore,  justly 
left  destitute  of  that  supernatural  assistance  which,  in 
the  exercise  of  her  legitimate  functions,  the  promise  of 
her  Founder  authorised  her  to  expect. 

This  reservation  affects  not  at  all  the  truth  of  our 
proposition,  that  divinity,  properly  so  called,  is  not  a 
progressive  science.  A  very  common  knowledge  of 
history,  a  very  little  observation  of  life,  will  suffice  to 
prove  that  no  learning,  no  sagacity,  affords  a  security 
against  the  greatest  errors  on  subjects  relating  to  the 
invisible  world.  Bayle  and  Chillingworth,  two  of  the 
most  sceptical  of  mankind,  turned  Catholics  from  sin- 
cere conviction.  Johnson,  iricredulous  on  all  other 
points,  was  a  ready  believer  in  miracles  and  appari  tions. 
He  would  not  believe  in  Ossian ;  but  he  was  willing  tc 


RANKE'S  IIISTOKY  OF  THE  POPES.  307 

believe  in  the  second  sio;ht.  He  would  not  believe  ir 
the  earthquake  of  Lisbon ;  but  he  was  willing  to  be- 
lieve in  the  Cock  Lane  ghost. 

For  these  reasons  we  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  any 
vagaries  of  superstition.  We  have  seen  men,  not  cf 
mean  intellect  or  neglected  education,  but  qualified  by 
their  talents  and  acquirements  to  attain  eminence  either 
in  active  or  speculative  pursuits,  well  read  scholars,  ex- 
pert logicians,  keen  observers  of  life  and  manners, 
prophesying,  interpreting,  talking  unknown  tongues, 
working  miraculous  cures,  coming  down  with  messages 
from  God  to  the  House  of  Commons.  We  have  seen 
an  old  woman-,  with  no  talents  beyond  the  cunning  of  a 
fortune-teller,  and  with  the  education  of  a  scullion,  ex- 
alted into  a  prophetess,  and  surrounded  by  tens  of 
thousands  of  devoted  followers,  many  of  whom  were, 
in  station  and  knowledge,  immeasurably  her  superiors ; 
and  all  this  in  the  nineteenth  century ;  and  all  this  in 
London.  Yet  why  not  ?  For  of  the  dealings  of  God 
with  man  no  more  has  been  revealed  to  the  nineteenth 
century  than  to  the  first,  or  to  London  than  to  the 
wildest  parish  in  the  Hebrides.  It  is  true  that,  in 
those  things  which  concern  this  life  and  this  world, 
man  constantly  becomes  wiser  and  wiser.  But  it  is 
no  less  true  that,  as  respects  a  higher  power  and  a 
future  state,  man,  in  the  language  of  Goethe's  scoffing 
fiend, 

"  bleibt  stets  von  gleichem  Selling, 
Und  ist  so  wunderlich  nls  \vie  am  ersteu  Tag." 

The  history  of  Catholicism  strikingly  illustrates 
th^se  observations.  During  the  last  seven  centuries 
the  public  mind  of  Europe  has  made  constant  progress 
n  every  department  of  secular  knowledge.  But  in 
"elision  we  can  trace  no  constant  Drosress.  The  ecclo- 


308  RAXKE'S  HISTOKr  OF  TIIE  POPES. 

siastical  history  of  that  long  period  is  a  history  of  move- 
ment to  and  fro.  Four  times,  since  the  authority  of 
the  Church  of  Rome  was  established  in  Western  elms' 
tendom,  has  the  human  intellect  risen  up  against  her 
yoke.  Twice  that  Church  remained  completely  ^icto- 
rious.  Twice  she  came  forth  from  the  conflict  beaiing 
the  marks  of  cruel  wounds,  but  with  the  principle  of 
life  still  strong  within  her.  When  we  reflect  on  the 
tremendous  assaults  which  she  has  survived,  we  find 
it  difficult  to  conceive  in  what  way  she  is  to  perish. 

The  first  of  these  insurrections  broke  out  in  the 
region  where  the  beautiful  language  of  Oc  was  spoken. 
That  country,  singularly  favoured  by  nature,  was,  in 
the  twelfth  centuiy,  the  most  flourishing  and  civilised 
portion  of  Western  Europe.  It  was  in  nowise  a  part 
of  France.  It  had  a  distinct  political  existence,  a  dis- 
tinct national  character,  distinct  usages,  and  a  distinct 
speech.  The  soil  was  fruitful  and  well  cultivated  ;  and 
amidst  the  cornfields  and  vineyards  arose  many  rich  cit- 
ies, each  of  which  was  a  little  republic,  and  many  stately 
castles,  each  of  which  contained  a  miniature  of  an  impe- 
rial court.  It  was  there  that  the  spirit  of  chivalry  first 
laid  aside  its  terrors,  first  took  a  humane  and  graceful 
form,  first  appeared  as  the  inseparable  associate  of  art 
and  literature,  of  courtesy  and  love.  The  other  vernac- 
ular dialects  which,  since  the  fifth  century,  had  sprung 
up  in  the  ancient  provinces  of  the  Roman  empire,  were 
still  rude  and  imperfect.  The  sweet  Tuscan,  the  rich 
and  energetic  English,  were  abandoned  to  artisans  and 
shepherds.  No  clerk  had  ever  condescended  to  use 
such  barbarous  jargon  for  the  teaching  of  science,  for 
the  recording  of  great  events,  or  for  the  painting  of  life 
and  manners.  But  the  language  of  Provence  was 
already  the  language  of  the  learned  and  polite,  and  was 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  309 

employed  by  numerous  writers,  studious  of  all  the  arts 
of  composition  and  versification.  A  literature  rich  in 
ballads,  in  war-songs,  in  satire,  and,  above  all,  in  ama- 
tory poetry,  amused  the  leisure  of  the  knights  and  ladies, 
whose  fortified  mansions  adorned  the  banks  of  the  Rhone 
and  Garonne.  With  civilisation  had  come  freedom  of 
thought.  Use  had  taken  away  the  horror  with  which 
misbelievers  were  elsewhere  regarded.  No  Norman  or 

O 

Breton  ever  saw  a  Mussulman,  except  to  give  and 
receive  blows  on  some  Syrian  field  of  battle.  But  the 
people  of  the  rich  countries  which  lay  under  the  Py- 
renees lived  in  habits  of  courteous  and  profitable  inter- 
course with  the  Moorish  kingdoms  of  Spain,  and  gave 
a  hospitable  welcome  to  skilful  leeches  aruL mathema- 
ticians who,  in  the  schools  of  Cordova  and  Granada, 
had  become  versed  in  all  the  learning;  of  the  Arabians. 

O 

The  Greek,  still  preserving,  in  the  midst  of  political 
degradation,  the  ready  wit  and  the  inquiring  spirit  of 
his  fathers,  still  able  to  read  the  most  perfect  of  human 
compositions,  still  speaking  the  most  poAverful  and 
flexible  of  human  languages,  brought  to  the  marts  of 
Narbonne  and  Toulouse,  together  with  the  drugs  and 
silks  of  remote  climates,  bold  and  subtle  theories  long 
unknown  to  the  ignorant  and  credulous  West.  The 
Paulician  theology,  a  theology  in  which,  as  it  should 
seem,  many  of  the  doctrines  of  the  modern  Calvinists 
were  mingled  with  some  doctrines  derived  from  the 
ancient  Manichees,  spread  rapidly  through  Provence 
and  Languedoc.  The  clergy  of  the  Catholic  Church 
were  regarded  with  loathing  and  contempt.  "  Viler 
than  a  priest,"  "  I  would  as  soon  be  a  priest,"  became 
proverbial  expressions.  The  Papacy  had  lost  all  au- 
thority with  all  classes,  from  the  great  feudal  princes 
down  to  the  cultivators  of  the  soil. 


310  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

The  clanger  to  the  hierarchy  was  indeed  formidable. 
Only  one  transalpine  nation  had  emerged  from  barba- 
rism ;  and  that  nation  had  thrown  off  all  respect  for 
Home.  Only  one  of  the  vernacular  languages  of 
Europe  had  yet  been  extensively  employed  for  literary 
purposes  ;  and  that  language  was  a  machine  in  thg 
hands  of  heretics.  The  geographical  position  of  tho 
sectaries  made  the  danger  peculiarly  formidable.  Tliry 
occupied  a  central  region  communicating  directly  with 
France,  with  Italy,  and  with  Spain.  The  provinces 
which  were  still  untainted  were  separated  from  each 
other  by  this  infected  district.  Under  tlffese  circum- 
stances, it  seemed  probable  that  a  single  generation 
would  suffipe  to  spread  the  reformed  doctrine  to  Lisbon, 
to  London,  and  to  Naples.  But  this  was  not  to  be. 
Rome  cried  for  help  to  the  warriors  of  northern  France. 
She  appealed  at  once  to  their  superstition  and  to  their 
cupidity.  To  the  deyout  believer  she  promised  par- 
dons as  ample  as  those  with  which  she  had  rewarded 
the  deliverers  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  To  the  rapa- 
cious and  profligate  she  offered  the  plunder  of  fertile 
plains  and  wealthy  cities.  Unhappily,  the  ingenious 
and  polished  inhabitants  of  the  Languedocian  provinces 
were  far  better  qualified  to  enrich  and  embellish  their 
country  than  to  defend  it.  Eminent  in  the  arts  cf 
peace,  unrivalled  in  the  "gay  science,"  elevated  abovo 
many  vulgar  superstitions,  they  wanted  that  iron 
courage,  and  that  skill  in  martial  exercises,  which 
distinguished  the  chivalry  of  the  region  beyond  the 
Loire,  and  were  ill  fitted  to  face  enemies  who,  in  every 
country  from  Ireland  to  Palestine,  had  been  victorious 
against  tenfold  odds.  A  war,  distinguished  even 
among  wars  of  religion  by  merciless  atrocity,  destroyed 
the  Albigensian  heresy,  and  with  that  heresy  the 


RANKE'S  IIISTORi'  OF  THE  POPES.  311 

prosperity,  the  civilisation,  the  literature,  the  national 
existence,  of  what  was  once  the  most  opulent  and  en- 
lightened part  of  the  great  European  family.  Rome, 
in  the  mean  time,  warned  by  that  fearful  danger  from 
which  the  exterminating  swords  of  her  crusaders  had 
narrowly  saved  her,  proceeded  to  revise  and  to 
strengthen  her  whole  system  of  polity.  At  this  period 
were  instituted  the  Order  of  Francis,  the  Order  of 
Dominic,  the  Tribunal  of  the  Inquisition.  The  new 
Spiritual  police  was  everywhere.  No  alley  in  a  great 
city,  no  hamlet  on  a  remote  mountain",  was  unvisited 
by  the  begging  friar.  The  simple  Catholic,  who  was 
content  to  be  no  Aviser  than  his  fathers,  found,  wherever 
he  turned,  a  friendly  voice  to  encourage  him.  The 
path  of  the  heretic  was  beset  by  innumerable  spies ;  and 
the  Church,  lately  in  danger  of  utter  subversion,  now 
appeared  to  be  impregnably  fortified  by  the  love,  the 
reverence,  and  the  terror  of  mankind. 

A  century  and  a  half  passed  away ;  and  then  came 
the  second  great  rising  up  of  the  human  intellect  against 
the  spiritual  domination  of  Rome.  During  the  two 
generations  which  followed  the  Albigensian  crusade, 
the  power  of  the  Papacy  had  been  at  the  height. 
Frederic  the  Second,  the  ablest  and  most  accomplished 
of  the  long  line  of  German  Caesars,  had  in  vain  ex- 
hausted all  the  resources  of  military  and  political  skill 
in  the  attempt  to  defend  the  rights  of  the  civil  power 
against  the  encroachments  of  the  Church.  The  ven- 
geance of  the  priesthood  had  pursued  his  house  to  tho 
third  generation.  Manfred  had  perished  on  the  field 
of  battle,  Conradin  on  the  scaffold.  Then  a  turn  took 
place.  The  secular  authority,  long  unduly  depressed, 
regained  the  ascendant  with  startling  rapidity.  The 
change  is  doubtless  to  be  ascribed  chiefly  to  the  genera] 


812  KANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

disgust  excited  by  the  way  in  which  the  Church  had 
abused  its  power  and  its  success.  But  something  must 
be  attributed  to  the  character  and  situation  of  individ- 
uals. The  man  who  bore  the  chief  part  in  effecting 
this  revolution  was  Philip  the  Fourth  of  France,  sui> 
named  the  Beautiful,  a  despot  by  position,  a  despot  by 
temperament,  stern,  implacable,  and  unscrupulous, 
equally  prepared  for  violence  and  for  chicanery,  and 
surrounded  by  a  devoted  band  of  men  of  the  sword  and 
of  men  of  law.  The  fiercest  and  most  highminded  of 
the  Roman  Pontiffs,  while  bestowing  kingdoms  and 
citing  great  princes  to  his  judgment-seat,  was  seized  in 
his  palace  by  armed  men,  and  so  foully  outraged  that 
he  died  mad  with  rage  and  terror.  "  Thus,"  sang  the 
great  Florentine  poet,  "  was  Christ,  in  the  person  of 
his  vicar,  a  second  time  seized  by  ruffians,  a  second 
time  mocked,  a  second  time  drenched  with  the  vinegar 
and  the  gall."  The  seat  of  the  Papal  court  was  car- 
ried beyond  the  Alps,  and  the  Bishops  of  Rome  became 
dependents  of  France.  Then  came  the 'great  schism 
of  the  West.  Two  Popes,  each  with  a  doubtful  title, 
made  all  Europe  ring  with  their  mutual  invectives  and 
anathemas.  Rome  cried  out  against  the  corruptions 
of  Avignon  ;  and  Avignon,  with  equal  justice,  recrim- 
inated on  Rome.  The  plain  Christian  people,  brought 
up  in  the  belief  that  it  was  a  sacred  duty  to  be  in  com- 
munion with  the  head  of  the  Church,  were  unable  to 
discover,  amidst  conflicting  testimonies  and  conflicting 
arguments,  to  which  of  the  two  worthless  priests  who 
*vere  cursing  and  reviling  each  other,  the  headship  of 

o  o  -*- 

the  Church  rightfully  belonged.  It  was  nearly  at  this 
juncture  that  the  voice  of  John  Wickliffe  began  to 
make  itself  heard.  The  public  mind  of  England  was 
soon  stirred  to  its  inmost  depths  ;  and  the  influence  of 


BANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  813 

Jie  new  doctrines  was  soon  felt,  even  in  the  distant 
kingdom  of  Bohemia.  In  Bohemia,  indeed,  there  had 
long  been  a  predisposition  to  heresy.  Merchants  from 
the  Lower  Danube  were  often  seen  in  the  fairs  of 
Prague ;  and  the  Lower  Danube  was  peculiarly  the 
seat  of  the  Paulician  theology.  The  Church,  torn  by 
schism,  and  fiercely  assailed  at  once  in  England  and  in 
the  German  empire,  was  in  a  situation  scarcely  lesa 
perilous  than  at  the  crisis  which  preceded  the  Albigen- 
sian  crusade. 

But  this  danger  also  passed  by.  The  civil  power 
gave  its  strenuous  support  to  the  Church  ;  and  the 
Church  made  some  show  of  reforming  itself.  The 
Council  of  Constance  put  an  end  to  the  schism.  The 
whole  Catholic  world  was  again  united  under  a  single 
chief ;  and  rules  were  laid  down  which  seemed  to 
make  it  improbable  that  the  power  of  that  chief  would 
be  grossly  abused.  The  most  distinguished  teachers  of 
the  new  doctrine  were  slaughtered.  The  English  gov 
ernment  put  down  the  Lollards  with  merciless  rigour  , 
and,  in  the  next  generation,  scarcely  one  trace  of  the 
second  great  revolt  against  the  Papacy  could  be  found, 
oxcept  among  the  rude  population  of  the  mountains  of 
Bohemia. 

Another  century  went  by  ;  and  then  began  the  third 
KMd  the  most  memorable  straggle  for  spiritual  free- 
dom. The  times  were  changed.  The  great  remains 
»f  Athenian  and  Roman  genius  were  studied  by  thou- 
sands. The  Church  had  no  longer  a  monopoly  of 
learning.  The  powers  of  the  modern  languages  had 
at  length  been  developed.  The  invention  of  printing 
aad  given  new  facilities  to  the  intercourse  of  mind 
with  mind.  With  such  auspices  commenced  the  great 
Reformation. 

VOL.  IV.  14 


814  RAXKE'S  IIISTOKY  OF  THE   POPES. 

We  vrill  attempt  to  lay  before  our  readers,  ir  a 
short  compass,  what  appears  to  us  to  be  the  real  his- 
tory of  the  contest  which  began  with  the  preaching  of 
Luther  against  the  Indulgences,  and  which  may,  in 
one  sense,  be  said  to  have  been  terminated,  a  hundred 
and  thirty  years  later,  by  the  treaty  of  Westphalia. 

In  the  northern  parts  of  Europe  the  victory  of  Prot- 
estantism was  rapid  and  decisive.  The  dominion  of 
the  Papacy  was  felt  by  the  nations  of  Teutonic  blood 
as  the  dominion  of  Italians,  of  foreigners,  of  men  who 
were  aliens  in  language,  manners,  and  intellectual 
constitution.  The  large  jurisdiction  exercised  by  the 
spiritual  tribunals  of  Rome  seemed  to  be  a  degrading 
badge  of  servitude.  The  sums  which,  under  a  thou- 
sand pretexts,  were  exacted  by  a  distant  court,  were 
regarded  both  as  a  humiliating  and  as  a  ruinous 
tribute.  The  character  of  that  court  excited  the  scorn 
and  disgust  of  a  grave,  earnest,  sincere,  and  devout 
people.  The  new  theology  spread  with  a  rapidity  never 
known  before.  All  ranks,  all  varieties  of  character, 
joined  the  ranks  of  the  innovators.  Sovereigns  im- 
patient to  appropriate  to  themselves  the  prerogatives 
vf  the  Pope,  nobles  desirous  to  share  the  plunder  of 
abbeys,  suitors  exasperated  by  the  extortions  of  the 
Roman  Camera,  patriots  impatient  of  a  foreign  rule, 
good  men  scandalized  by  the  corruptions  of  the  Church, 
bad  men  desirous  of  the  license  inseparable  from  great 
moral  revolutions,  wise  men  eager  in  the  pursuit  of 
truth ,  weak  men  allured  by  the  glitter  of  novelty,  all 
Were  found  on  one  side.  Alone  among  the  northern 
nations  the  Ii'ish  adhered  to  the  ancient  faith  :  and 
the  cause  of  this  seems  to  have  been  that  the  nationa1 
feeling  which,  in  happier  countries,  was  directed  against 
Rome,  was  in  Ireland  directed  against  England.  Within 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  31ti 

fifty  years  from  the  day  on  which  Luther  publicly  re- 
nounced communion  with  the  Papacy,  and  burned  the 
bull  of  Leo  before  the  gates  of  Wittenberg,  Protestant- 
ism attained  its  highest  ascendency,  an  ascendency 
which  it  soon  lost,  and  which  it  has  never  regained. 
Hundreds,  who  could  well  remember  Brother  Martin  a 
devout  Catholic,  lived  to  see  the  revolution  of  which  he 
was  the  chief  author,  victorious  in  half  the  states  in 
Europe.  In  England,  Scotland,  Denmark,  Sweden, 
Livonia,  Prussia,  Saxony,  Hesse,  Wurteinburg,  the 
Palatinate,  in  several  cantons  of  Switzerland,  in  the 
Northern  Netherlands,  the  Reformation  had  completely 
triumphed  ;  and  in  all  the  other  countries  on  this  side 
of  the  Alps  and  the  Pyrenees,  it  seemed  on  the  point 
of  triumphing. 

But  while  this  mighty  work  was  proceeding  in  the 
north  of  Europe,  a  revolution  of  a  very  different  kind 
had  taken  place  in  the  south.  The  temper  of  Italy 
and  Spain  was  widely  different  from  that  of  Germany 
and  England.  As  the  national  feeling  of  the  Teutonic 
nations  impelled  them  to  throw  off  the  Italian  suprem- 
acy, so  the  national  feeling  of  the  Italians  impelled 
them  to  resist  any  change  which  might  deprive  their 
countiy  of  the  honours  and  advantages  which  she  en- 
joyed as  the  seat  of  the  government  of  the  Universal 
Church.  It  was  in  Italy  that  the  tributes  were  spent 
>f  which  foreign  nations  so  bitterly  complained.  It 
Was  to  adorn  Italy  that  the  traffic  in  Indulgences  had 
neen  carried  to  that  scandalous  excess  which  had 
roused  the  indignation  of  Luther.  There  was  among 
the  Italians  both  much  piety  and  much  impiety ;  but, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  neither  the  piety  nor  the 
impiety  took  the  turn  of  Protestantism.  The  religious 
Italians  desired  a  reform  of  morals  and  discipline,  but 


316  RAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

not  a  reform  of  doctrine,  and  least  of  all  a  schism, 
The  irreligious  Italians  simply  disbelieved  Christianity, 
without  hating  it.  They  looked  at  it  as  artists  or  as 
statesmen  ;  and,  so  looking  at  it,  they  liked  it  better 
in  the  established  form  than  in  any  other.  It  was  to 
them  what  the  old  Pagan  worship  was  to  Trajan  and 
Pliny.  Neither  the  spirit  of  Savonarola  nor  the  spirit 
of  Machiavelli  had  any  thing  in  common  with  the 
spirit  of  the  religious  or  political  Protestants  of  the 
North. 

Spain  again  was,  with  respect  to  the  Catholic  Church, 
in  a  situation  very  different  from  that  of  the  Teutonic 
nations.  Italy  was,  in  truth,  a  part  of  the  empire  of 
Charles  the  Fifth  ;  and  the  court  of  Rome  Avas,  on 
many  important  occasions,  his  tool.  He  had  not,  there- 
fore, like  the  distant  princes  of  the  North,  a  strong 
selfish  motive  for  attacking  the  Papacy.  In  fact,  the 
very  measures  which  provoked  the  Sovereign  of  Eng- 
land to  renounce  all  connection  with  Rome  were  dic- 
tated by  the  Sovereign  of  Spain.  The  feeling  of  the 
Spanish  people  concurred  with  the  interest  of  the 
Spanish  government.  The  attachment  of  the  Castilian 
to  the  faith  of  his  ancestors  was  peculiarly  strong  and 
urdent.  With  that  faith  were  inseparably  bound  up 
the  institutions,  the  independence,  and  the  glory  of  his 
country.  Between  the  day  when  the  last  Gothic  king 
was  A'anquished  on  the  banks  of  the  Xeres,  and  the  day 
when  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  entered  Granada  in  tri- 
umph, near  eight  hundred  years  had  elapsed ;  and 
during  those  years  the  Spanish  nation  had  been  engaged 
in  a  desperate  struggle  against  misbelievers.  The  Cru- 
Badas  had  been  merely  an  episode  in  the  history  of 
other  nations.  The  existence  of  Spain  had  been  one 
long  Crusade.  After  fighting  Mussulmans  in  thu  Olq 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  317 

World,  she  began  to  fight  heathens  in  the  New.  It 
was  under  the  authority  of  a  Papal  Lull  that  her  chil- 
dren steered  into  unknown  seas.  It  was  under  the 
standard  of  the  cross  that  they  marched  fearlessly  into 
the  heart  of  great  kingdoms.  It  was  with  the  cry  of 
"  St.  James  for  Spain,"  that  they  charged  armies  which 
outnumbered  them  a  hundredfold.  And  men  said  that 
the  Saint  had  heard  the  call,  and  had  himself,  in  arms, 
on  a  gray  war-horse,  led  the  onset  before  which  tho 
worshippers  of  false  gods  had  given  way.  After  the 
battle,  every  excess  of  rapacity  or  cruelty  was  suffi- 
ciently vindicated  by  the  plea  that  the  sufferers  were 
unbaptized.  Avarice  stimulated  zeal.  Zeal  conse- 
crated avarice.  Proselytes  and  gold  mines  were  sought 
with  equal  ardour.  In  the  very  year  in  which  the 
Saxons,  maddened  by  the  exactions  of  Rome,  broke 
loose  from  her  yoke,  the  Spaniards,  under  the  authority 
of  Rome,  made  themselves  masters  of  the  empire  and 
of  the  treasures  of  Montezuma.  Thus  Catholicism 
which,  in  the  public  mind  of  Northern  Europe,  was 
associated  with  spoliation  and  oppression,  was  in  the 
public  mind  of  Spain  associated  with  liberty,  victory, 
dominion,  wealth,  and  glory. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  strange  that  the  effect  of  the 
great  outbreak  of  Protestantism  in  one  part  of  Chris- 
tendom should  have  been  to  produce  an  equally  vio- 
xent  outbreak  of  Catholic  zeal  in  another.  Two 
reformations  were  pushed  on  at  once  with  equal  en- 
ergy and  effect,  a  reformation  of  doctrine  in  the 
North,  a  reformation  of  manners  and  discipline  in  the 
South.  In  the  course  of  a  single  generation,  the  whole 
spirit  of  the  church  of  Rome  underwent  a  change. 
V'lom  the  halls  of  the  Vatican  to  the  most  secluded 
aenrJtage  of  the  Apennines,  the  great  revival  was 


318  RAXKE'S  HISTORY   OF  THE  POPES. 

everywhere  felt  and  seen.  All  the  institutions  anciently 
devised  for  the  propagation  and  defence  of  the  faith 
were  furbished  up  and  made  efficient.  Fresh  engines 
of  still  more  formidable  power  were  constructed. 
Everywhere  old  religious  communities  were  remod- 
elled and  new  religious  communities  called  into  exist- 
ence. "W  ithin  a  year  after  the  death  of  Leo,  the  order 
of  Camaldoli  was  purified.  The  Capuchins  restored 
the  old  Franciscan  discipline,  the  midnight  prayer  and 
the  life  of  silence.  The  Barnabites  and  the  society  of 
Somasca  devoted  themselves  to  the  relief  and  educa- 
tion of  the  poor.  To  the  Theatine  order  a  still  higher 
interest  belongs.  Its  great  object  was  the  same  with 
that  of  our  early  Methodists,  namely  to  supply  tho 
deficiencies  of  the  parochial  clergy.  The  Church  of 
Rome,  wiser  than  the  Church  of  England,  gave  every 
countenance  to  the  good  work.  The  members  of  the 
new  brotherhood  preached  to  great  multitudes  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  fields,  prayed  by  the  beds  of  the  sick, 
and  administered  the  last  sacraments  to  the  dying. 
Foremost  among  them  in  zeal  and  devotion  was  Gian 
Pietro  Caraffa,  afterwards  Pope  Paul  the  Fourth.  In 
the  convent  of  the  Theatines  at  Venice,  under  the  eye 
of  Caraffa,  a  Spanish  gentleman  took  up  •  his  abode, 
tended  the  poor  in  the  hospitals,  went  about  in  rags, 
starved  himself  almost  to  death,  and  often  sallied  into 
jlie  streets,  mounted  on  stones,  and,  waving  his  hat  to 
invite  the  passers-by,  began  to  preach  in  a  strange  jar- 
gon of  mingled  Castilian  and  Tuscan.  The  Theatines 
were  among  the  most  zealous  and  rigid  of  men ;  but  to 
this  enthusiastic  neophyte  their  discipline  seemed  lax, 
and  their  movements  sluggish ;  for  his  own  mind,  natu- 
rally passionate  and  imaginative,  had  passed  through  a 
training  which  had  given  to  all  its  pecuJiarities  a  mor 


HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  319 

bid  intensity  and  energy.  In  his  early  life  he  had 
been  the  very  prototype  of  the  hero  of  Cervantes. 
The  single  study  of  the  young  Hidalgo  had  been  chiv- 
alrous romance  ;  and  his  existence  had  been  one  gor- 
geous day-dream  of  princesses  rescued  and  infidels  sub- 
dued. He  had  chosen  a  Dulcinea,  "no  countess,  no 
duchess,"  —  these  are  his  own  words,  —  "but  one  of 
far  higher  station  ;"  and  he  flattered  himself  with  the 
hope  of  laying  at  her  feet  the  keys  of  Moorish  castlca 
and  the  jewelled  turbans  of  Asiatic  kings.  In  the 
midst  of  these  visions  of  martial  glory  and  prosperous 
love,  a  severe  wound  stretched  him  on  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness. His  constitution  was  shattered  and  he  was 
doomed  to  be  a  cripple  for  life.  The  palm  of  strength, 
grace,  and  skill  in  knightly  exercises,  was  no  longer  for 
him.  He  could  no  longer  hope  to  strike  down  gigan- 
tic soldans,  or  to  find  favour  in  the  sight  of  beautiful 
ivomen.  A  new  vision  then  arose  in  his  mind,  and 
mingled  itself  with  his  own  delusions  in  a  manner 
which  to  most  Englishmen  must  seem  singular,  but 
which  those  who  know  how  close  was  the  union  be- 
tween religion  and  chivalry  in  Spain  will  be  at  no  loss 
to  understand.  He  would  still  be  a  soldier ;  he  would 
still  be  a  knight  errant ;  but  the  soldier  and  knight 
errant  of  the  spouse  of  Christ.  He  would  smite  the 
Great  Red  Dragon.  He  would  be  the  champion  of  tho 
Woman  clothed  with  the  Sun.  He  would  break  the 
Jmnn  under  which  false  prophets  held  the  souls  of  men 
'm  bondage.  His  restless  spirit  led  him  to  the  Syrian 
deserts,  and  to  the  chapel  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
Thence  he  wandered  back  to  the  farthest  West,  and 
astonished  the  convents  of  Spain  and  the  schools  of 
^rance  by  his  penances  and  vigils.  The  same  lively 
BUftgination  which  had  been  employed  in  picturing  tho 


320  JRASiLE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

tumult  of  unreal  battles,  and  the  charms  of  unreal 
queens,  now  peopled  his  solitude  with  saints  and  angels. 
The  Holy  Virgin  descended  to  commune  with  him. 
lie  sa\v  the  Saviour  face  to  face  with  the  eye  of  flesh. 
Even  those  mysteries  of  religion  which  are  the  hardest 
trial  of  faith  were  in  his  case  palpable  to  sight.  It  is 
difficult  to  relate  without  a  pitying  smile  that,  in  the 
sacrifice  of  the  mass,  he  saw  transubstantiation  take 
place,  and  that,  as  he  stood  praying  "on  the  steps  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Dominic,  he  saw  the  Trinity  in  Unity, 
and  wept  aloud  with  joy  and  wonder.  Such  was  the 
celebrated  Ignatius  Loyola,  who,  in  the  great  Catholic 
reaction,  bore  the  same  part  which  Luther  bore  in  the 
great  Protestant  movement. 

Dissatisfied  with  the  system  of  the  Theatines,  the 
enthusiastic  Spaniard  turned  his  face  towards  Rome. 
Poor,  obscure,  without  a  patron,  without  recommen- 
dations, he  entered  the  city  where  now  two  princely 
temples,  rich  with  painting  and  many-coloured  marble, 
commemorate  his  great  services  to  the  Church  ;  where 
his  form  stands  sculptured  in  massive  silver  ;  where  his 
bones,  enshrined  amidst  jewels,  are  placed  beneath  the 
altar  of  God.  His  activity  and  zeal  bore  down  all  op- 
position ;  and  under  his  rule  the  order  of  Jesuits  began 
to  exist,  and  grew  rapidly  to  the  full  measure  of  h.ia 
gigantic  powers.  With  what  vehemence,  with  what 
policy,  with  what  exact  discipline,  with  what  dauntless 
courage,  with  what  self-denial,  with  what  forgetfulness 
of  the  dearest  private  ties,  with  what  intense  and  stub- 
born devotion  to  a  single  end,  with  what  unscrupulous 
luxity  and  versatility  in  the  choice  of  means,  the  Jesuits 
'ough*  the  battle  of  their  church,  is  written  in  every 
page  of  the  annals  of  Europe  during  several  genera- 
.ion'j.  In  the  order  of  Jesus  was  concentrated  tht» 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  321 

quintessence  of  the  Catholic  spirit ;  and  the  history  of 
tlie  order  of  Jesus  is  the  history  of  the  great  Catholic 
reaction.  That  order  possessed  itself  at  once  of  all  the 
strongholds  which  command  the  public  mind,  of  the 
pulpit,  of  the  press,  of  the  confessional,  of  the  acade- 
mies. Wherever  the  Jesuit  preached,  the  church  was 
too  small  for  the  audience.  The  name  of  Jesuit  on  a 
title-page  secured  the  circulation  of  a  book.  It  was  in 
the  ears  of  the  Jesuit  that  the  powerful,  the  noble,  and 
the  beautiful,  breathed  the  secret  history  of  their  lives. 
It  was  at  the  feet  of  the  Jesuit  that  the  youth  of  the 
higher  and  middle  classes  were  brought  up  from  child- 
hood to  manhood,  from  the  first  rudiments  to  the 
courses  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy.  Literature  and 
science,  lately  associated  with  infidelity  or  with  heresy, 
now  became  the  allies  of  orthodoxy.  Dominant  in  the 
South  of  Europe,  the  great  order  soon  went  forth  con- 
quering and  to  conquer.  In  spite  of  oceans  and  des- 
erts, of  hunger  and  pestilence,  of  spies  and  penal  laws, 
of  dungeons  and  racks,  of  gibbets  and  quartering- 
blocks,  Jesuits  were  to  be  found  under  every  disguise, 
and  in  every  country  ;  scholars,  physicians,  merchants, 
serving  men  ;  in  the  hostile  court  of  Sweden,  in  the 
old  manor-house  of  Cheshire,  among  the  hovels  of 
Connaught ;  arguing,  instructing,  consoling,  stealing 
away  the  hearts  of  the  young,  animating  the  courage 
of  the  timid,  holding  up  the  crucifix  before  the  eyes  of 
the  dying.  Nor  was  it  less  their  office  to  plot  against 
the  thrones  and  lives  of  the  apostate  kings,  to  spread 
evil  rumours,  to  raise  tumults,  to  inflame  civil  wars,  to 
arm  the  hand  of  the  assassin.  Inflexible  in  nothing 
tut  in  their  fidelity  to  the  Church,,  they  were  equally 
'•eady  to  appeal  in  her  cause  to  the  spirit  of  loyalty  and 
to  the  spirit  of  freedom.  Extreme  doctrines  of  obedi- 


322  RAXKE'S  HISTORY   OF  Tlltt  POPES. 

ence  and  extreme  doctrines  of  liberty,  the  right  of 
rulers  to  misgovern  the  people,  the  right  of  every  OUG 
of  the  people  to  plunge  his  knife  in  the  heart  of  a  bad 
ruler,  were  inculcated  by  the  same  man,  according  ag 
he  addressed  himself  to  the  subject  of  Philip  or  to  the 
subject  of  Elizabeth.  Some  described  these  divines  as 
the  most  rigid,  others  as  the  most  indulgent  of  spiritual 
directors ;  and  both  descriptions  Avere  correct.  The 
truly  devout  listened  with  awe  to  the  high  and  saintly 
morality  of  the  Jesuit.  The  gay  cavalier  who  had  run 
his  rival  through  the  body,  the  frail  beauty  who  had 
forgotten  her  marriage-vow,  found  in  the  Jesuit  an  easy 
well-bred  man  of  the  world,  who  knew  how  to  make 
allowance  for  the  little  irregularities  of  people  of  fash- 
ion. The  confessor  was  strict  or  lax,  according  to  the 
temper  of  the  penitent.  The  first  object  was  to  drive 
no  person  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Church.  Since  there 
were  bad  people,  it  was  better  that  they  should  be  bad 
Catholics  than  bad  Protestants.  If  a  person  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  a  bravo,  a  libertine,  or  a  gambler, 
that  was  no  reason  for  making  him  a  heretic  too. 

The  Old  World  was  not  wide  enough  for  this 
strange  activity.  The  Jesuits  invaded  all  the  countries 
which  the  great  maritime  discoveries  of  the  preceding 
age  had  laid  open  to  European  enterprise.  They  were 
to  be  found  in  the  depths  of  the  Peruvian  mines,  at  the 
marts  of  the  African  slave-caravans,  on  the  shores  of 
the  Spice  Islands,  in  the  observatories  of  China.  They 
made1  converts  in  regions  which  neither  avarice  nor 

O 

curiosity  had  tempted  any  of  their  countrymen  to 
enter ;  and  preached  and  disputed  in  tongues  of  which 
'io  other  native  of  the  West  understood  a  word. 

The  spirit  which  appeared  so  eminently  in  this 
order  animated  the  whole  Catholic  world.  The  Court 


KASKE'S  HISTOIiY  OF  THE  POPES.  323 

of  Rome  itself  was  purified.  During  the  generation 
which  preceded  the  Reformation,  that  court  had  been 
a  scandal  to  the  Christian  name.  Its  annals  are  black 
with  treason,  murder,  and  incest.  Even  its  more  re- 
spectable members  were  utterly  unfit  to  be  ministers  of 
religion.  They  were  men  like  Leo  the  Tenth  ;  men 
•who,  with  the  Latinity  of  the  Augustan  age,  had  ac- 
quired its  atheistical  and  scoffing  spirit.  They  re- 
garded those  Christian  mysteries,  of  which  they  were 
stewards,  just  as  the  Augur  Cicero  and  the  high  Pon- 
tiff Coesar  regarded  the  Sibylline  books  and  the  pecking 
of  the  sacred  chickens.  Among  themselves,  they  spoke 
of  the  Incarnation,  the  Eucharist,  and  the  Trinity,  in 
the  same  tone  in  which  Cotta  and  Velleius  talked 
of  the  oracle  of  Delphi  or  the  voice  of  Faunus  in  the 
mountains.  Their  years  glided  by  in  a  soft  dream  of 
sensual  and  intellectual  voluptuousness.  Choice  cook- 
ery, delicious  wines,  lovely  women,  hounds,  falcons, 
horses,  newly  discovered  manuscripts  of  the  classics, 
sonnets  and  burlesque  romances  in  the  sweetest  Tus- 
can, just  as  licentious  as  a  fine  sense  of  the  graceful 
would  permit,  plate  from  the  hand  of  Benvenuto,  de- 
signs for  palaces  by  Michael  Angelo,  frescoes  by  Ra- 
phael, busts,  mosaics,  and  gems  just  dug  up  from 
among  the  ruins  of  ancient  temples  and  villas,  these 
things  were  the  delight  and  even  the  serious  business 
of  their  lives.  Letters  and  the  fine  arts  undoubtedly 
owe  much  to  this  not  inelegant  sloth.  But  when  the 
great  stirring  of  the  mind  of  Europe  began,  when  doc- 
trine after  doctrine  was  assailed,  when  nation  after 
nation  withdrew  from  communion  with  the  successor 
of  St.  Peter,  it  was  felt  that  the  Church  could  not 
De  safely  confided  to  chiefs  whose  highest  praise  was 
\hat  they  were  good  judges  of  Latin  compositions,  of 


824  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

paintings,  and  of  statues,  whose  severest  studies  had  a 
pagan  character,  and  who  were  suspected  of  laughing  in 
secret  at  the  sacraments  which  they  administered,  and 
of  believing  no  more  of  the  Gospel  than  of  the  Moryante. 
Maijgiore.  Men  of  a  very  different  class  now  rose  to 
the  direction  of  ecclesiastical  affairs,  men  whoue  spirit 
resembled  that  of  Dunstan  and  of  Becket.  The  Roman 
Pontiffs  exhibited  in  their  own  persons  all  the  austerity 
of  the  early  anchorites  of  Syria.  Paul  the  Fourth 
brought  to  the  Papal  throne  the  same  fervent  zeal 
which  had  carried  him  into  the  Theotine  convent. 
Pius  the  Fifth,  under  his  gorgeous  vestments,  wore  day 
and  night  the  hair  shirt  of  a  simple  friar,  walked  bare- 
foot in  the  streets  at  the  head  of  processions,  found, 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  most  pressing  avocations,  time 
for  private  prayer,  often  regretted  that  the  public  duties 
of  his  station  were  unfavourable  to  growth  of  holiness, 
and  edified  his  flock  by  innumerable  instances  of  hu- 
mility, charity,  and  forgiveness  of  personal  injuries, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  he  upheld  the  authority  of  his 
see,  and  the  unadulterated  doctrines  of  his  Church, 
with  all  the  stubbornness  and  vehemence  of  Hilde- 
brand.  Gregory  the  Thirteenth  exerted  himself  not 
only  to  imitate  but  to  surpass  Pius  in  the  severe  vir- 
tues of  his  sacred  profession.  As  was  the  head,  such 
were  the  members.  The  change  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Catholic  world  may  be  traced  in  every  walk  of  litera- 
ture and  of  art.  It  will  be  at  once  perceived  by  every 
person  who  compares  the  poem  of  Tasso  with  that  of 
Ariosto,  or  the  monuments  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth  with 
those  of  Leo  the  Tenth. 

But  it  was  not  on  moral  influence  alone  that  the 
Catholic  Church  relied.  The  civil  sword  in  Spain  and 
Italy  was  unsparingly  employed  in  her  support.  The 


KAJSKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  325 

Inquisition  Avas  armed  with  new  poAvers  and  inspired 
with  a  new  energy.  If  Protestantism,  or  the  semblance 
i)f  Protestantism,  showed  itself  in  any  quarter,  it  Avas 
instantly  met,  not  by  petty,  teasing  persecution,  but  by 
persecution  of  that  sort  which  bows  down  and  crushes 
all  but  a  A'ery  feAV  select  spirits.  Whoever  Avas  sus» 
pected  of  heresy,  Avhatever  his  rank,  his  learning,  of 
his  reputation,  kneAV  that  he  must  purge  himself  to  the 
satisfaction  of  a  severe  and  vigilant  tribunal,  or  die  by 
fire.  Heretical  books  \vere  sought  out  and  destroyed 
with  similar  rigour.  Works  Avhich  were  once  in  every 
house  Avere  so  effectually  suppressed  that  no  copy  of 
them  is  HOAV  to  be  found  in  the  most  extensive  libraries. 
One  book  in  particular,  entitled  "  Of  the  Benefits  of 
the  Death  of  Christ,"  had  this  fate.  It  \vas  Avritten  in 
Tuscan,  was  many  times  reprinted,  and  Avas  eagerly 
read  in  every  part  of  Italy.  But  the  inquisitors  de- 
tected in  it  the  Lutheran  doctrine  of  justification  by 
faitli  alone.  They  proscribed  it ;  and  it  is  now  as  hope- 
lessly lost  as  the  second  decade  of  Livy. 

Thus,  Avhile  the  Protestant  reformation  proceeded 
rapidly  at  one  extremity  of  Europe,  the  Catholic  revival 
went  on  as  rapidly  at  the  other.  About  half  a  century 
after  the  great  separation,  there  Avcre,  throughout  the 
North,  Protestant  governments  and  Protestant  nations. 
In  the  South  Avere  governments  and  nations  actuated 
by  the  most  intense  zeal  for  the  ancient  Church.  Be- 
tween these  tAvo  hostile  regions  lay,  morally  as  Avell  a* 
geographically,  a  great  debatable  land.  In  France, 
Belgium,  Southern  Germany,  Hungary,  and  Poland, 
the  contest  was  still  undecided-  The  goA^ernments  of 
hose  countries  had  not  renounced  their  connection  Avith 
Home ;  but  the  Protestants  Avere  numerous,  powerful^ 
V)ld,  and  active.  In  France,  they  formed  a  common- 


826  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

weal  tli  within  the  realm,  held  fortresses,  wore  able  to 
bring. great  armies  into  the  field,  and  had  treated  with 
their  sovereign  on  terms  of  equality.  In  Poland,  the 
King  was  still  a  Catholic ;  but  the  Protestants  had  the 
upper  hand  in  the  Diet,  filled  the  chief  offices  in  tho 
administration,  and,  in  the  large  towns,  took  possession 
of  the  parish  churches.  "It  appeared,"  says  the  Papal 
nuncio,  "  that  in  Poland,  Protestantism  would  com- 
pletely supersede  Catholicism."  In  Bavaria,  the  state 
of  things  was  nearly  the  same.  The  Protestants  had  a 
majority  in  the  Assembly  of  the  States,  and  demanded 
from  the  duke  concessions  in  favour  of  their  religion,  as 
the  price  of  their  subsidies.  In  Transylvania,  the 
House  of  Austria  was  unable  to  prevent  the  Diet  from 
confiscating,  by  one  sweeping  decree,  the  estates  of  the 
Church.  In  Austria  Proper  it  was  generally  said  that 
only  one  thirtieth  part  of  the  population  could  be 
counted  on  as  good  Catholics.  In  Belgium  the  adher- 
ents of  the  new  opinions  were  reckoned  by  hundreds 
of  thousands. 

The  history  of  the  two  succeeding  generations  is  the 
history  of  the  struggle  between  Protestantism  possessed 
of  the  North  of  Europe,  and  Catholicism  possessed  of 
the  South,  for  the  doubtful  territory  which  lay  between. 
All  the  weapons  of  carnal  and  of  spiritual  warfare 
were  employed.  Both  sides  may  boast  of  great  talents 
and  of  great  virtues.  Both  have  to  blush  for  many 
follies  and  crimes.  At  first  the  chances  seemed  to  be 
decidedly  in  favour  of  Protestantism  ;  but  the  victory 
remained  with  the  Church  of  Home.  On  every  point 
she  was  successful.  If  we  overleap  another  half  cen-» 
tiny,  we  find  her  victorious  and  dominant  in  France, 
Belgium,  Bavaria,  Bohemia,  Austria,  Poland,  and  Hun- 
gary. Nor  has  Protestantism,  in  the  course  of  two 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  TOPES.  327 

hundred  years  been  able  to  reconquer  any  portion  of 
what  was  then  lost. 

It  is,  moreover,  not  to  be  dissembled  that  this 
triumph  of  the  Papacy  is  to  be  chiefly  attributed,  not 
to  the  force  of  anus,  but  to  a  great  reflux  in  public 
opinion.  During  the  first  half  century  after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Reformation,  the  current  of  feeling 
in  the  countries  on  this  side  of  the  Alps  and  of  the 
Pyrenees  ran  impetuously  towards  the  new  doctrines. 
Then  the  tide  turned,  and  rushed  as  fiercely  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Neither  during  the  one  period,  nor 
during  'the  other,  did  much  depend  upon  the  event  of 
battles  or  sieges.  The  Protestant  movement  was 
hardly  checked  for  an  instant  by  the  defeat  at  Muhl- 
berg.  The  Catholic  reaction  went  on  at  full  speed  in 
spite  of  the  destruction  of  the  Armada.  It  is  difficult 
to  say  whether  the  violence  of  the  first  blow  or  of  the 
recoil  was  the  greater.  Fifty  years  after  the  Lutheran 
separation,  Catholicism  could  scarcely  maintain  itself 
on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  A  hundred  years 
after  the  separation,  Protestantism  could  scarcely  main- 
tain itself  on  the  shores  of  the  Baltic.  The  causes  of 
this  memorable  turn  in  human  affairs  well  deserve  to 
be  investigated. 

The  contest  between  the  two  parties  bore  some 
resemblance  to  the  fencing-match  in  Shakspeare ; 
"  Laertes  wounds  Hamlet ;  then,  in  scuffling,  they 
change  rapiers,  and  Hamlet  wounds* Laertes."  The 
war  between  Luther  and  Leo  was  a  war  between  firm 
faith  and  unbelief,  between  zeal  and  apathy,  between 
energy  and  indolence,  between  seriousness  and  frivolity, 
between  a  pure  morality  and  vice.  Very  different  was 
the  war  which  degenerate  Protestantism  had  to  wage 
igainst  regenerate  Catholicism.  To  the  debauchee, 


82S  RANKE'S  HISTOKT   OF  THE  POPES 

the  poisoners,  the  atheists,  who  had  worn  the  tiara 
during  the  generation  which  preceded  the  Reformation, 
had  succeeded  Popes  who,  in  religious  fervour  and 
severe  sanctity  of  manners,  might  bear  a  comparison  with 
Cyprian  or  Ambrose.  The  order  of  Jesuits  alone 
could  show  many  men  not  inferior  in  sincerity,  con- 
stancy, courage,  and  austerity  of  life,  to  the  apostles  of 
the  Reformation.  But  while  danger  had  thus  called 
forth  in  the  bosoms  of  the  Church  of  Rome  many  of 
the  highest  qualities  of  the  Reformers,  the  Reformers 
had  contracted  some  of  the  corruptions  which  had  been 
justly  censured  in  the  Church  of  Rome.  They  had 
become  lukewarm  and  worldly.  Their  great  old 
leaders  had  been  borne  to  the  grave,  and  had  left  no 
successors.  Among  the  Protestant  princes  there  was 
little  or  no  hearty  Protestant  feeling.  Elizabeth  her- 
self was  a  Protestant  rather  from  policy  than  from  firm 
conviction.  James  the  First,  in  order  to  effect  his 
favourite  object  of  marrying  his  son  into  one  of  the 
great  continental  houses,  was  ready  to  make  immense 
concessions  to  Rome,  and  even  to  admit  a  modified 
primacy  in  the  Pope.  Henry  the  Fourth  twice  ab- 
jured the  reformed  doctrines  from  interested  motives. 
The  Elector  of  Saxony,  the  natural  head  of  the  Prot- 
estant party  in  Germany,  submitted  to  become,  at  the 
most  important  crisis  of  the  struggle,  a  tool  in  the 
hands  of  the  Papists.  Among  the  Catholic  sovereigns, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  find  a  religious  zeal  often 
amounting  to  fanaticism.  Philip  the  Second  was  a 
Papist  in  a  very  different  sense  from  that  in  which 
Elizabeth  was  a  Protestant.  Maximilian  of  Bavaria, 
.brought  up  under  the  teaching  of  the  Jesuits,  was  a 
fervent  missionary  wielding  the  powers  of  a  prince. 
The  Emperor  Ferdinand  the  Second  deliberately  pul 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  TIIE  POPES.  329 

•M 

nls  throne  to  hazard  over  and  over  again,  rather  than 
make  the  smallest  concession  to  the  spirit  of  religious 
innovation.  Sigismund  of  Sweden  lost  a  crown  which 
he  might  have  preserved  if  he  would  have  renounced 
the  Catholic  faith.  In  short,  everywhere  on  the  Prot- 
estant side  >ve  see  languor ;  everywhere  on  the 
Catholic  side  we  see  ardour  and  devotion. 

Not  only  was  there,  at  this  time,  a  much  more  in- 
tense zeal  among  the  Catholics  than  among  the  Prot- 
estants ;  but  the  whole  zeal  of  the  Catholics  was 
directed  against  the  Protestants,  while  almost  the  whole 
zeal  of  the  Protestants  was  directed  against  each  other. 
Within  the  Catholic  Church  there  were  no  serious 
disputes  on  points  of  doctrine.  The  decisions  of  the 
Council  of  Trent  were  received ;  and  the  Jansenian 
controversy  had  not  yet  arisen.  The  whole  force  of 
Rome  was,  therefore,  effective  for  the  purpose  of  carry- 
ing on  the  war  against  the  Reformation.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  force  which  ought  to  have  fought  the 
battle  of  the  Reformation  was  exhausted  in  civil  con- 
flict. While  Jesuit  preachers,  Jesuit  confessors,  Jes- 
uit teachers  of  youth,  overspread  Europe,  eager  to 
expend  every  faculty  of  their  minds  and  every  drop  of 
their  blood  in  the  cause  of  their  Church,  Protestant 
doctors  were  confuting,  and  Protestant  rulers  were 
punishing,  sectaries  who  were  just  as  good  Protestants 
as  themselves. 

"  Cumque  superba  foret  BABYLON  spoliauda  tropasis, 
Bella  geri  placuit  nullos  habitura  triumphos." 

In  the  Palatinate,  a  Calvinistic  prince  persecuted 
the  Lutherans.  In  Saxony,  a  Lutheran  prince  perse- 
cuted the  Calvinists.  Everybody  who  objected  to  any 
of  the  articles  of  tho  Confession  of  Augsburg  was 
banished  from  Sweden.  In  Scotland,  Melville  was 


330  HAVRE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

disputing  with  other  Protestants  on  questions  of  eccle- 
siastical government.  In  England  the  gaols  were 
filled  with  men,  who,  though  zealous  for  the  Reforma- 
tion, did  not  exactly  agree  with  the  Court  on  all 
points  of  discipline  and  doctrine.  Some  were  per- 
secuted for  denying  the  tenet  of  reprobation  ;  some 
for  not  wearing  surplices.  The  Irish  people  might  at 
that  time  have  been,  in  all  probability,  reclaimed  from 
Popery,  at  the  expense  of  half  the  zeal  and  activity 
which  Whitgift  employed  in  oppressing  Puritans,  and 
Martin  Marprelate  in  reviling  bishops. 

As  the  Catholics  in  zeal  and  in  union  had  a  great 
advantage  over  the  Protestants,  so  had  they  also  an 
infinitely  superior  organization.  In  truth,  Protestant- 
ism, for  aggressive  purposes,  had  no  organization  at  all. 
The  Reformed  Churches,  were  mere  national  Churches. 
The  Church  of  England  existed  for  England  alone.  It 
was  an  institution  as  purely  local  as  the  Court  of  Com- 
mon Pleas,  and  was  utterly  without  any  machinery  for 
foreign  operations.  The  Church  of  Scotland,  in  the 
same  manner,  existed  for  Scotland  alone.  The  opera- 
tions of  the  Catholic  Church,  on  the  other  hand,  took 
in  the  whole  world.  Nobody  at  Lambeth  or  at  Edin- 
burgh troubled  himself  about  what  was  doing  in  Poland 
or  Bavaria.  But  Cracow  and  Munich  were  at  Rome 
objects  of  as  much  interest  as  the  purlieus  of  St.  John 
Lateran.  Our  island,  the  head  of  the  Protestant 
interest,  did  not  send  out  a  single  missionary  or  a  single 
instructor  of  youth  to  the  scene  of  the  great  spiritual 
war.  Not  a  single  seminary  was  established  here  for 
the  purpose  of  furnishing  a  supply  of  such  persons  to 
foreign  countries.  On  the  other  hand,  Germany,  Hun- 
gary, and  Poland  were  filled  with  able  and  active 
Catholic  emissaries  of  Spanish  or  Italian  birth  ;  ana 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  331 

colleges  for  the  instruction  of  the  northern  youth  were 
founded  at  Rome.  The  spiritual  force  of  Protestantism 
was  a  mere  local  militia,  which  might  be  useful  in  caso 
of  an  invasion,  but  could  not  be  sent  abroad,  and  could 
therefore  make  no  conquests.  Rome  had  such  a  local 
militia ;  but  she  had  also  a  force  disposable  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  for  foreign  service,  however  dangerous  or 
disagreeable.  If  it  was  thought  at  head-quarters  that 
a  Jesuit  at  Palermo  was  qualified  by  his  talents  and 
character  to  withstand  the  Reformers  in  Lithuania, 
the  order  was  instantly  given  and  instantly  obeyed. 
In  a  month,  the  faithful  servant  of  the  Church  was 
preaching,  catechising,  confessing,  beyond  the  Niemen. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  polity  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  is  the  very  master-piece  of  human 
wisdom.  In  truth,  nothing  but  such  a  polity  could, 
against  such  assaults,  have  borne  up  such  doctrines. 
The  experience  of  twelve  hundred  eventful  years,  the 
ingenuity  and  patient  care  of  forty  generations  of 
statesmen,  have  improved  that  polity  to  such  perfec- 
tion that,  among  the  contrivances  which  have  been 
devised  for  deceiving  and  oppressing  mankind  it  occu- 
pies the  highest  place.  The  stronger  our  conviction 
that  reason  and  scripture  were  decidedly  on  the  side  of 
Protestantism,  the  greater  is  the  reluctant  admiration 
with  which  we  regard  that  system  of  tactics  against 
which  reason  and  scripture  were  employed  in  vain. 

If  we  went  at  large  into  this  most  interesting  subject 
we  should  fill  volumes.  We  will,  therefore,  at  present, 
advert  to  only  one  important  part  of  the  policy  of  the 
Church  of  Rome.  She  thoroughly  understands,  what 
no  other  Church  has  ever  understood,  how  to  deal  with 
enthusiasts.  In  some  sects,  particularly  in  infant  sects, 
enthusiasm  is  suffered  to  be  rampant.  In  other  sects, 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

particularly  in  sects  long  established  and  richly  endowed, 
it  is  regarded  with  aversion.  The  Catholic  Church 
neither  submits  to  enthusiasm  nor  proscribes  it,  but  uses 
it.  She  considers  it  as  a  great  moving  force  which 
in  itself,  like  the  muscular  power  of  a  fine  horse,  is 
neither  good  nor  evil,  but  which  may  be  so  directed  as 
to  produce  great  good  or  great  evil ;  and  she  assumes 
the  direction  to  herself.  It  would  be  absurd  to  run 
down  a  horse  like  a  wolf.  It  would  be  still  more  ab- 
surd to  let  him  run  wild,  breaking  fences  and  trampling 
down  passengers.  The  rational  course  is  to  subjugate 
his  will  without  impairing  his  vigour,  to  teach  him 
to  obey  the  rein  and  then  to  urge  him  to  full  speed. 
When  once  he  knows  his  master,  he  is  valuable  in  pro- 
portion to  his  strength  and  spirit.  Just  such  has  been 
the  system  of  the  Church  of  Home  with  regard  to  en- 
thusiasts. She  knows  that,  when  religious  feelings  have 
obtained  the  complete  empire  of  the  mind,  they  impart 
a  strange  energy,  that  they  raise  men  above  the  dominion 
of  pain  and  pleasure,  that  obloquy  becomes  glory,  that 
death  itself  is  contemplated  only  as  the  beginning  of  a 
higher  and  happier  life.  She  knows  that  a  person  in 
this  state  is  no  object  of  contempt.  He  may  be  vulgar, 
ignorant,  visionary,  extravagant ;  but  he  will  do  and 
suffer  things  which  it  is  for  her  interest  that  somebody 
chould  do  and  suffer,  yet  from  which  calm  and  sober- 
minded  men  would  shrink.  She  accordingly  enlists  him 
in  her  service,  assigns  to  him  some  forlorn  hope,  in 
which  intrepidity  and  impetuosity  are  more  wanted 
than  judgment  and  self-command,  and  sends  him  forth 
with  her  benediction  and  her  applause. 

In  England  it  not  unfrequently  happens  that  a  linker 
or  coaiheavei  hears  a  sermon  or  falls  in  with  a  tract 
which  alarms  him  about  the  state  of  his  soul.  If  he  b« 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

a  man  of  excitable  nerves  and  strong  imagination,  he 
thinks  himself  given  over  to  the  Evil  Power.  He 
douhts  whether  he  has  not  committed  the  unpardonable 
sin.  He  imputes  every  wild  fancy  that  springs  up  in 
his  mind  to  the  whisper  of  a,  fiend.  His  sleep  is  broken 
by  dreams  of  the  great  judgment  seat,  the  open  books, 
and  the  unquenchable  fire.  If,  in  order  to  escape  from 
these  vexing  thoughts,  he  flies  to  amusement  or  to 
licentious  indulgence,  the  delusive  relief  only  makes  his 
misery  darker  and  more  hopeless.  At  length  a  turn 
takes  place.  He  is  reconciled  to  his  offended  Maker. 
To  borrow  the  fine  imagery  of  one  who  had  himself 
been  thus  tried,  he  emerges  from  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  death,  from  the  dark  land  of  gins  and  snares, 
of  quagmires  and  precipices,  of  evil  spirits  and  ravenous 
beasts.  The  sunshine  is  on  his  path.  He  ascends  the 
Delectable  Mountains,  and  catches  from  their  summit 
a  distant  view  of  the  shining  city  which  is  the  end  of 
his  pilgrimage.  Then  arises  in  his  mind  a  natural 
and  surely  not  a  censurable  desire,  to  impart  to  others 
the  thoughts  of  which  his  own  heart  is  full,  to  warn  the 

O  ' 

careless,  to  comfort  those  who  are  troubled  in  spirit 
The  impulse  which  urges  him  to  devote  his  whole  life 
to  the  teaching  of  religion  is  a  strong  passion  in  the 
guise  of  a  duty.  He  exhorts  his  neighbours  ;  and,  if 
he  be  a  man  of  strong  parts,  he  often  does  so  with  grea< 
effect.  He  pleads  as  if  he  were  pleading  for  his  life 
with  tears,  and  pathetic  gestures,  and  burning  words , 
and  he  soon  finds  with  delight,  not  perhaps  wholly  un- 
mixed with  the  alloy  of  human  infirmity,  that  his  rude 
eloquence  rouses  and  melts  hearers  who  sleep  very 
^omposedly  while  the  rector  preaches  on  the  apostolical 
succession.  Zeal  for  God,  love  for  his  fellow-creatures, 
pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  his  newly  discovered  powers, 


384  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

impel  him  to  become  a  preacher.  He  has  no  quarre'. 
with  the  establishment,  no  objection  to  its  formularies, 
its  government,  or  its  vestments.  He  would  gladly  be 
admitted  amono;  its  humblest  ministers.  But,  admitted 

O 

or  rejected,  he  feels  that  his  vocation  is  determined. 
His  orders  have  come  down  to  him,  not  through  a  long 
and  doubtful  series  of  Arian  and  Popish  bishops,  but 
direct  from  on  high.  His  commission  is  the  same  that, 
on  the  Mountain  of  Ascension  was  given  to  the  Eleven. 
Nor  will  he,  for  lack  of  human  credentials,  spare  to 
deliver  the  glorious  message  with  which  he  is  charged 
by  the  true  Head  of  the  Church.  For  a  man  thus 
minded,  there  is  within  the  pale  of  the  establishment  no 
place.  He  has  been  at  no  college  ;  he  cannot  construe 
a  Greek  author  or  write  a  Latin  theme  ;  and  he  is  told 
that,  if  he  remains  in  the  communion  of  the  Church, 
he  must  do  so  as  a  hearer,  and  that,  if  he  is  resolved  to 
be  a  teacher,  he  must  begin  by  being  a  schismatic. 
His  choice  is  soon  made.  He  harangues  on  Tower 
Hill  or  in  Smithfield.  A  congregation  is  formed.  A 
license  is  obtained.  A  plain  brick  building,  with  a 
desk  and  benches,  is  run  up,  and  named  Ebenezer  or 
Bethel.  In  a  few  weeks  the  Church  has  lost  for  ever 
a  hundred  families,  not  one  of  which  entertained  the 
least  scruple  about  her  articles,  her  liturgy,  her  govern- 
ment, or  her  ceremonies. 

Far  different  is  the  policy  of  Rome.  The  ignorant 
enthusiast  whom  the  Anglican  Church  makes  an  ene- 
my, and,  whatever  the  polite  and  learned  may  think,  a 
most  dangerous  enemy,  the  Catholic  Church  makes  a 
champion.  She  bids  him  nurse  his  beard,  covers  him 
with  a  gown  and  hood  of  coarse  dark  stuff,  ties  a  rope 
round  his  waist,  and  sends  him  forth  to  teach  in  he* 
name.  He  costs  her  nothing.  He  takes  not  a  ducat 


RANKE'S  HISTORY   OF  THE  POPES.  835 

away  from  the  revenues  of  her  beneficed  clergy.  He 
lives  by  the  alms  of  those  who  respect  his  spiritual 
character,  and  are  grateful  for  his  instructions.  He 
preaches,  not  exactly  in  the  style  of  Massillon,  but  in  a 
way  which  moves  the  passions  of  uneducated  hearers  : 
and  all  his  influence  is  employed  to  strengthen  the 
Church  of  which  he  is  a  minister.  To  that  Church  he 
becomes  as  strongly  attached  as  any  of  the  cardinals 
whose  scarlet  carriages  and  liveries  crowd  the  entrance 
of  the  palace  on  the  Quirinal.  In  this  way  the  Church 
of  Rome  unites  in  herself  all  the  strength  of  establish- 
ment, and  all  the  strength  of  dissent.  With  the  utmost 
pomp  of  a  dominant  hierarchy  above,  she  has  all  the 
energy  of  the  voluntary  system  beloAV.  It  would  be 
easy  to  mention  very  recent  instances  in  which  the 
hearts  of  hundreds  of  thousands,  estranged  from  her  by 
the  selfishness,  sloth,  and  cowardice  of  the  beneficed 
clergy,  have  been  brought  back  by  the  zeal  of  the 
begging  friars. 

Even  for  female  agency  there  is  a  place  in  her  sys- 
tem. To  devout  women  she  assigns  spiritual  functions, 
dignities,  and  magistracies.  In  our  country,  if  a  noble 
lady  is  moved  by  more  than  ordinary  zeal  for  the  propa- 
gation of  religion,  the  chance  is  that,  though  she  may 
disapprove  of  no  doctrine  or  ceremony  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  she  will  end  by  giving  her  name  to  a 
new  schism.  If  a  pious  and  benevolent  woman  enters 
the  cells  of  a  prison  to  pray  with  the  most  unhappy  and 
degraded  of  her  own  sex,  she  does  so  without  any  au- 
thority from  the  Church.  No  line  of  action  is  traced 
out  for  her  ;  and  it  is  well  if  the  Ordinary  does  not 
compmin  of  her  intrusion,  and  if  the  Bishop  does  not 
shake  his  head  at  such  irregular  benevolence.  At 
Rome,  the  Countess  of  Huntingdon  would  have  a  place 


B3G  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

n  the  calendar  as  St.  Selina,  and  Mrs.  Fry  would  be 
foundress  and  first  Superior  of  the  Blessed  Order  of 
Sisters  of  the  Gaols. 

Place  Ignatius  Loyola  at  Oxford.  He  is  certain  to 
become  the  head  of  a  formidable  secession.  Place  John 
Wesley  at  Rome.  He  is  certain  to  be  the  first  General 
of  a  new  society  devoted  to  the  interests  and  honour  of 
the  Church.  Place  St.  Theresa  in  London.  Her 
rc&less  enthusiasm  ferments  into  madness,  not  untine- 
tured  with  craft.  She  becomes  the  prophetess,  the 
mother  of  the  faithful,  holds  disputations  with  the  devil, 
issues  sealed  pardons  to  her  adorers,  and  lies  in  of  the 
Shiloh.  Place  Joanna  Southcote  at  Rome.  She  founds 
an  order  of  barefooted  Carmelites,  every  one  of  whom 
'is  ready  to  suffer  martyrdom  for  the  Church  ;  a  solemn 
service  is  consecrated  to  her  memory  ;  and  her  statue, 
placed  over  the  holy  water,  strikes  the  eye  of  every 
stranger  who  enters  St.  Peter's. 

We  have  dwelt  long  on-*  this  subject,  because  we 
believe  that  of  the  many  causes  to  which  the  Church  of 
Rome  owed  her  safety  and  her  triumph  at  the  close  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  the  chief  was  the  profound  policy 
with  which  she  used  the  fanaticism  of  such  persons  as 
St  Ignatius  and  St.  Theresa. 

The  Protestant  party  was  now  indeed  vanquished 
and  humbled.  In  France,  so  strong  had  been  the 
Catholic  reaction  that  Henry  the  Fourth  found  it  neces- 
sary to  choose  between  his  religion  and  his  crown.  In 
spite  of  his  clear  hereditary  right,  in  spite  of  his  eminent 
personal  qualities,  he  saw  that,'  unless  he  reconciled 
Iiirnself  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  he  could  not  count  on 
the  fidelity  even  of  those  gallant  gentlemen  whose 
impetuous  valour  had  turned  the  tide  of  battle  at  Ivry 
fn  Belgium,  Poland,  and  Southern  Germany,  Catholi- 


RAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  337 

eism  had  obtained  complete  ascendency.  The  resist- 
ance of  Bohemia  was  put  down.  The  Palatinate  was 
conquered.  Upper  and  Lower  Saxony  were  overflowed 
by  Catholic  invaders.  The  King  of  Denmark  stood 
forth  as  the  Protector  of  the  Reformed  Churches  :  hu 
was  defeated,  driven  out  of  the  empire,  and  attacked  in 
his  own  possessions.  The  armies  of  the  House  of 
Austria  pressed  on,  subjugated  Pomerania,  and  were 
stopped  in  their  progress  only  by  the  ramparts  of  Stral- 
sund. 

And  now  again  the  tide  turned.  Two  violent  out- 
breaks of  religious  feeling  in  opposite  directions  had 
given  a  character  to  the  history  of  a  whole  century. 
Protestantism  had  at  first  driven  back  Catholicism  to 
the  Alps  and  the  Pyrenees.  Catholicism  had  rallied, 
and  had  driven  back  Protestantism  even  to  the  German 
Ocean.  Then  the  great  southern  reaction  began  to 
slacken,  as  the  great  northern  movement  had  slackened 
before.  The  zeal  of  the  Catholics  waxed  cool.  Then 
union  was  dissolved.  The  paroxysm  of  religious  ex- 
citement was  over  on  both  sides.  One  party  had 
degenerated  as  far  from  the  spirit  of  Loyola  as  the  other 
from  the  spirit  of  Luther.  During  three  generations 
religion  had  been  the  mainspring  of  politics.  The  rev- 
olutions and  civil  wars  of  France,  Scotland,  Holland, 
Sweden,  the  long  struggle  between  Philip  and  Eliza- 
beth, the  bloody  competition  for  the  Bohemian  crown, 
had  all  originated  in  theological  disputes.  But  a  great 
change  now  took  place.  The  contest  which  was  raging 
in  Germany  lost  its  religious  character.  It  was  now, 
Dii  one  side,  less  a  contest  for  the  spiritual  ascendency 
&f  the  Church  of  Rome  than  for  the  temporal'  ascen- 
dency of  the  House  of  Austria.  On  the  other  side,  it 
»vas  less  a  contest  for  the  reformed  doctrines  than  for 
VOL.  iv.  15 


S38  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  P(  f  ES. 

national  independence.  Governments  began  to  form 
themselves  into  new  combinations,  in  which  community 
of  political  interest  was  far  more  regarded  than  commu- 
nity of  religious  belief.  Even  at  Rome  the  progress  of 
the  Catholic  arms  was  observed  with  mixed  feelings. 
The  Supreme  Pontiff  was  a  sovereign  prince  of  the 
second  rank,  and  was  anxious  about  the  balance  of 
power  as  well  as  about  the  propagation  of  truth.  It 
was  known  that  he  dreaded  the  rise  of  an  universal 
monarchy  even  more  than  he  desired  the  prosperity  of 
the  Universal  Church.  At  length  a  great  event  an- 
nounced to  the  world  that  the  war  of  sects  had  ceased, 
and  that  the  war  of  states  had  succeeded.  A  coalition, 
including  Calvinists,  Lutherans,  and  Catholics,  was 
formed  against  the  House  of  Austria.  At  the  head  of 
that  coalition  were  the  first  statesman  and  the  first 
warrior  of  the  age ;  the  former  a  prince  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  distinguished  by  the  vigour  and  success  with 
which  he  had  put  down  the  Huguenots ;  the  latter  a 
Protestant  king  who  owed  his  throne  to  a  revolution 
caused  by  hatred  of  Popery.  The  alliance  of  Richelieu 
and  Gustavus  marks  the  time  at  which  the  great  relig- 
ious struggle  terminated.  The  war  which  followed  was 
a  war  for  the  equilibrium  of  Europe.  When,  at  length, 
the  peace  of  Westphalia  was  concluded,  it  appeared 
that  the  Church  of  Rome  remained  in  full  possession  of 
a  vast  dominion,  which  in  the  middle  of  the  preceding 
century  she  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  losing.  No 
part  of  Europe  remained  Protestant,  except  that  part 
which  had  become  thoroughly  Protestant  before  the 
generation  which  heard  Luther  preach  had  passed 
away. 

Since  that  time  there  has  been  no  religious  war  be- 
Veeu  Catholics  and  Protestants  as  such.     In  the  time 


KAXKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  33S 

>f  Cromwell,  Protestant  England  was  united  with 
Catholic  France,  then  governed  by  a  priest,  against 
Catholic  Spain.  William  the  Third,  the  eminently 
Protestant  hero,  was  at  the  head  of  a  coalition  which  in- 
cluded many  Catholic  powers,  and  which  was  secretly 
favoured  even  by  Rome,  against  the  Catholic  Lewis. 
In  the  time  of  Anne,  Protestant  England  and  Protes- 
tant Holland  joined  with  Catholic  Savoy  and  Catholic 
Portugal,  for  the  purpose  of  transferring  the  crown  of 
Spain  from  one  bigoted  Catholic  to  another. 

The  geographical  frontier  between  the  two  religions 
has  continued  to  run  almost  precisely  where  it  ran  at 
the  close  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War ;  nor  has  Protes- 
tantism given  any  proofs  of  that  "  expansive  power  " 
which  has  been  ascribed  to  it.  But  the  Protestant 
boasts,  and  boasts  most  justly,  that  wealth,  civilisation, 
and  intelligence,  have  increased  far  more  on  the  north- 
prn  than  on  the  southern  side  of  the  boundary,  and 
that  countries  so  little  favoured  by  nature  as  Scotland 
and  Prussia  are  now  among  the  most  flourishing  and 
best  governed  portions  of  the  world,  while  the  marble 
palaces  of  Genoa  are  deserted,  while  banditti  infest  the 
beautiful  shores  of  Campania,  while  the  fertile  sea-coast 
of  the  Pontifical  State  is  abandoned  to  buffaloes  and 
wild  boars.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that,  since  the  six- 
teenth century,  the  Protestant  nations  have  made  de- 
.udedly  greater  progress  than  their  neighbours.  The 
progress  made  by  those  nations  in  which  Protestant- 
ism, though  not  finally  successful,  yet  maintained  a 
long  struggle,  and  left  permanent  traces,  has  generally 
been  considerable.  But  when  we  come  to  the  Catho- 
Sc  Land,  to  the  part  of  Europe  in  which  the  first  spark 
of  reformation  was  trodden  out  as  soon  as  it  appeared, 
and  from  which  proceeded  the  impulse  wliich  drove 


3-10  RANKE'S   HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

Protestantism  back,  we  find,  at  best,  a  very  s  ow  pro 
gress,  and  on  the  whole  a  retrogression.  Compare 
Denmark  and  Portugal.  When  Luther  began  to 
preach,  the  superiority  of  the  Portuguese  was  unques- 
tionable. At  present,  the  superiority  of  the  Danes  is 
no  less  so.  Compare  Edinburgh  and  Florence.  Edin- 
burgh has  owed  less  to  climate,  to  soil,  and  to  the  fos- 
tering care  of  rulers  than  any  capital,  Protestant  or 
Catholic.  In  all  these  respects,  Florence  has  been  sin- 
gularly happy.  Yet  whoever  knows  what  Florence 
and  Edinburgh  were  in  the  generation  preceding  the 
Reformation,  and  what  they  are  now,  will  acknowledge 
that  some  great  cause  has,  during  the  last  three  centu- 
ries, operated  to  raise  one  part  of  the  European  family, 
and  to  depress  the  other.  Compare  the  history  of  Eng- 
land and  that  of  Spain  during  the  last  century.  In 
amis,  arts,  sciences,  letters,  commerce,  agriculture,  the. 
contrast  is  most  striking.  The  distinction  is  not  con- 
fined to  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  The  colonies  planted 
by  England  in  America  have  immeasurably  outgrown 
in  power  those  planted  by  Spain.  Yet  we  have  no 
reason  to  believe  that,  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  the  Castilian  was  in  any  respect  inferior  to  the 
Englishman.  Our  firm  belief  is,  that  the  North  owes 
its  great  civilisation  and  prosperity  chiefly  to  the  moral 
effect  of  the  Protestant  Reformation,  and  that  the  de- 
wy of  the  Southern  countries  of  Europe  is  to  be  mainly 
ascribed  to  the  great  Catholic  revival. 

About  a  hundred  years  after  the  final  settlement  of 
the  boundary  line  between  Protestantism  and  Cathol- 
icism, began  to  appear  the  signs  of  the  fourth  great  peril 
of  the  Church  of  Rome.  The  storm  which  was  now 
rising  against  her  was  of  a  very  different  kind  from 
those  which  had  preceded  it.  Those  who  had  formerly 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  341 

attacked  her  had  questioned  only  a  part  of  her  doc- 
trines. A  school  was  now  growing  up  which  rejected 
the  whole.  The  Albigenses,  the  Lollards,  the  Luther- 
ans, the  Calvinists,  had  a  positive  religious  system,  and 
were  strongly  attached  to  it.  The  creed  of  the  new 
sectaries  was  altogether  negative.  They  took  one  of 
their  premises  from  the  Protestants,  and  one  from  tho 
Catholics.  From  the  latter  they  borrowed  the  princi- 
ple, that  Catholicism  was  the  only  pure  and  genuine 
Christianity.  With  the  former,  they  held  that  some 
parts  of  the  Catholic  system  were  contrary  to  reason. 
The  conclusion  was  obvious.  Two  propositions,  each 
of  which  separately  is  compatible  with  the  most  exalted 
piety,  formed,  when  held  in  conjunction,  the  ground- 
work of  a- system  of  irreligion.  The  doctrine  of  Bos- 
suet,  that  transubstantiation  is  affinned  in  the  Gospel, 
and  the  doctrine  of  Tillotson,  that  transubstantiation  is 
an  absurdity,  when  put  together,  produced  by  logical 
necessity  the  inferences  of  Voltaire. 

Had  the  sect  which  was  rising  at  Paris  been  a  sect 
of  mere  scoffers,  it  is  very  improbable  that  it  would 
have  left  deep  traces  of  its  existence  in  the  institutions 
and  manners  of  Europe.  Mere  negation,  mere  Epicu- 
rean infidelity,  as  Lord  Bacon  most  justly  observes,  has 
never  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  world.  It  furnishes 
no  motive  for  action.  It  inspires  no  enthusiasm.  It 
has  no  missionaries,  no  crusaders,  no  martyrs.  If  the 
Patriarch  of  the  Holy  Philosophical  Church  had  con- 
tented himself  with  making  jokes  about  Saul's  asses  and 
David's  wives,  and  with  criticizing  the  poetry  of  Eze- 
kiel  in  the  same  narrow  spirit  in  which  he  criticized  that 
of  Shakspeare,  Rome  would  have  had  little  to  fear. 
But  it  is  due  to  him  and  to  his  compeers  to  say  that 
the  real  secret  of  their  strength  lay  in  the  truth  which 


3-42  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES 

was  mingled  with  their  errors,  and  in  the  generous  en- 
thusiasm which  was  hidden  under  their  flippancy.  They 
were  men  who,  with  all  their  faults,  moral  and  intellect- 
ual, sincerely  and  earnestly  desired  the  improvement 
of  the  condition  of  the  human  race,  whose  blood  boiled 
at  the  sight  of  cruelty  and  injustice,  who  made  manful 
war,  with  every  faculty  which  they  possessed,  on  what 
they  considered  as  abuses,  and  who  on  many  signal  oc- 
casions placed  themselves  gallantly  between  the  power- 
ful and  the  oppressed.  While  they  assailed  Christianity 
with  a  rancour  and  an  unfairness  disgraceful  to  men 
who  called  themselves  philosophers,  they  yet  had,  in 
far  greater  measure  than  their  opponents,  that  charity 
towards  men  of  all  classes  and  races  which  Christianity 
enjoins.  Religious  persecution,  judicial  torture,  arbitrary 
imprisonment,  the  unnecessary  multiplication  of  capital 
punishments,  the  delay  and  chicanery  of  tribunals,  the 
exactions  of  farmers  of  the  revenue,  slavery,  the  slave 
trade,  were  the  constant  subjects  of  their  lively  satire 
and  eloquent  disquisitions.  When  an  innocent  man 
was  broken  on  the  wheel  at  Toulouse,  when  a  youth, 
guilty  only  of  an  indiscretion,  was  beheaded  at  Abbe- 
ville, when  a  brave  officer,  borne  down  by  public  injus- 
tice, was  dragged,  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth,  to  die  on 
the  Place  de  Greve,  a  voice  instantly  went  forth  from 
the  banks  of  Lake  Leman,  which  made  itself  heard 
from  Moscow  to  Cadiz,  and  which  sentenced  the  unjust 
judges  to  the  contempt  and  detestation  of  all  Europe. 
.The  really  efficient  weapons  with  which  the  philoso- 
phers assailed  the  evangelical  faith  were  borrowed  from 
the  evangelical  morality.  The  ethical  and  dogmatical 
parts  of  the  Gospel  were  unhappily  turned  against  each 
other.  On  one  side  was  a  Church  boasting  of  the 
purity  of  a  doctrine  derived  from  the  Apostles,  but  dis- 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  843 

graced  by  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  by  the 
murder  of  the  best  of  kings,  by  the  war  of  Cevennes, 
by  the  destruction  of  Port-Royal.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  sect  laughing  at  the  Scriptures,  shooting  out  the 
tongue  at  the  sacraments,  but  ready  to  encounter  prin- 
cipalities and  powers  in  the  cause  of  justice,  mercy,  and 
toleration. 

Irreligion,  accidentally  associated  with  philanthropy, 
triumphed  for  a  time  over  religion  accidentally  asso- 
ciated with  political  and  social  abuses.  Every  tiling 
gave  way  to  the  zeal  and  activity  of  the  new  reformers. 
In  France,  every  man  distinguished  in  letters  was  found 
in  their  ranks.  Every  year  gave  birth  to  works  in 
which  the  fundamental  •  principles  of  the  Church  were 
attacked  with  argument,  invective,  and  ridicule.  The 
Church  made  no  defence,  except  by  acts  of  power. 
Censures  were  pronounced :  books  were  seized :  insults 
were  offered  to  the  remains  of  infidel  writers ;  but  no 
Bossuet,  no  Pascal,  came  forth  to  encounter  Voltaire. 
There  appeared  not  a  single  defence  of  the  Catholic 
doctrine  which  produced  any  considerable  effect,  or 
which  is  now  even  remembered.  A  bloody  and  un- 
sparing persecution,  like  that  which  put  down  the 
Albigenses,  might  have  put  down  the  philosophers. 
But  the  time  for  De  Montforts  and  Dominies  had  gone 
by.  The  punishments  which  the  priests  were  still  able 
to  inflict  were  sufficient  to  irritate,  but  not  sufficient  to 
destroy.  The  war  was  between  power  on  one  side, 
and  wit  on  the  other ;  and  the  power  was  under  far 
more  restraint  than  the  wit.  Orthodoxy  soon  became 
a  synonyme  for  ignorance  and  stupidity.  It  was  as 
necessary  to  the  character  of  an  accomplished  man  that 
he  should  despise  the  religion  of  his  country,  as  that  he 
should  know  his  letters.  The  new  doctrines  spread 


B4i  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  TOPES. 

rapidly  through  Christendom.  Paris  was  the  capita. 
of  the  whole  continent.  French  was  everywhere  the 
language  of  polite  circles.  TLs  literary  glory  of  Italy 
and  Spain  had  departed.  That  of  Germany  had  not 
dawned.  That  of  England  shone,  as  yet,  for  the  Eng- 
lish alone.  The  teachers  of  France  were  the  teachers 
of  Europe.  The  Parisian  opinions  spread  fast  among 
the  educated  classes  beyond  the  Alps :  nor  could  the 
vigilance  of  the  Inquisition  prevent  the  contraband 
importation  of  the  new  heresy  into  Castile  and  Portu- 
gal. Governments,  even  arbitrary  governments,  saw 
with  pleasure  the  progress  of  this  philosophy.  Numer- 
ous reforms,  generally  laudable,  sometimes  hurried  on 
without  sufficient  regard  to  time",  to  place,  and  to  public 
feeling,  showed  the  extent  of  its  influence.  The  rulers 
of  Prussia,  of  Russia,  of  Austria,  and  of  many  smallei 
states,  were  supposed  to  be  among  the  initiated. 

The  Church  of  Rome  was  still,  in  outward  show,  as 
stately  and  splendid  as  ever ;  but  her  foundation  was 
undermined.  No  state  had  quitted  her  communion  or 
confiscated  her  revenues  ;  but  the  reverence  of  the 
people  was  everywhere  departing  from  her. 

The  first  great  warning  stroke  was  the  fall  of  that 
society  which,  in  the  conflict  with  Protestantism,  had 
saved  the  Catholic  Church  from  destruction.  The 
order  of  Jesus  had  never  recovered  from  the  injury 
received  in  the  struggle  with  Port-Royal.  It  was  now 
still  more  rudely  assailed  by  the  philosophers.  Its  spirit 
was  broken ;  its  reputation  was  tainted.  Insulted  by 
all  tho  men  of  genius  in  Europe,  condemned  by  the 
civil  magistrate,  feebly  defended  by  the  chiefs  of  the 
hierarchy,  it  fell :  and  great  was  the  fall  cf  it. 

The  movement  went  on  with  increasing  speed.  The 
first  generation  of  the  new  sect  passed  away.  Th« 


KANKE'S  HISTORY   OF   THE  POPES.  34(J 

doctrines  of  Voltaire  were  inherited  and  exaggerated 
by  successors,  who  bore  to  him  the  same  relation  which 
the  Anabaptists  bore  to  Luther,  or  the  Fifth-Monarchy 
men  to  Pym.  At  length  the  Revolution  came.  Down 
went  the  old  Church  of  France,  with  all  its  pcinp  and 
wealth.  Some  of  its  priests  purchased  a  maintenance 
by  separating  themselves  from  Home,  and  by  becoming 
the  authors  of  a  fresh  schism.  Some,  rejoicing  in  the 
now  license,  flung  away  their  sacred  vestments,  pro- 
claimed that  their  whole  life  had  been  an  imposture, 
insulted  and  persecuted  the  religion  of  which  they  had 
been  ministers,  and  distinguished  themselves,  even  in 
the  Jacobin  Club  and  the  Commune  of  Paris,  by  the 
excess  of  their  impudence  and  ferocity.  Others,  more 
faithful  to  their  principles,  were  butchered  by  scores 
without  a  trial,  drowned,  shot,  hung  on  lamp-posts. 
Thousands  fled  from  their  country  to  take  sanctuary 
under  the  shade  of  hostile  altars.  The  churches  were 
closed  ;  the  bells  were  silent ;  the  shrines  were  plun- 
dered ;  the  silver  crucifixes  were  melted  down.  Buf- 
foons, dressed  in  copes  and  surplices,  came  dancing  the 
carmagnole  even  to  the  bar  of  the  Convention.  The 
bust  of  Marat  was  substituted  for  the  statues  of  the 
martyrs  of  Christianity.  A  prostitute,  seated  on  a 
chair  of  state  in  the  chancel  of  Notre  Dame,  received 
the  adoration  of  thousands,  who  exclaimed  that  at 
length,  for  the  first  time,  those  ancient  Gothic  arches 
had  resounded  with  the  accents  of  truth.  The  new 
unbelief  was  as  intolerant  as  the  old  superstition.  To 
show  reverence  for  religion  was  to  incur  the  suspicion 
of  disaffection.  It  was  not  without  imminent  danger 
that  the  priest  baptized  the  infant,  joined  the  hands  of 
lovers,  or  listened  to  the  confession  of  the  dying.  The 
Absurd  worship  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason  was,  indeed, 


3-13  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

of  short  duration ;  but  the  deism  of  Robespierre  and 
Lepaux  was  not  less  hostile  to  the  Catholic  faith  than 
the  atheism  of  Clootz  and  Chaumette. 

Nor  were  the  calamities  of  the  Church  confined  to 
France.  The  revolutionary  spirit,  attacked  by  all 
Europe,  beat  all  Europe  back,  became  conqueror  in  its 
turn,  and,  not  satisfied  with  the  Belgian  cities  and  the 
rich  domains  of  the  spiritual  electors,  went  raging 
over  the  Rhine  and  through  the  passes  of  the  Alps. 
ThrougliDut  the  whole  of  the  great  war  against  Protes- 
tantism, Italy  and  Spain  had  been  the  base  of  the  Cath- 
olic operations.  Spain  was  now  the  obsequious  vassal 
of  the  infidels.  Italy  was  subjugated  by  them.  To 
her  ancient  principalities  succeeded  the  Cisalpine  repub- 
lic, and  the  Ligurian  republic,  and  the  Parthenopean 
republic.  The  shrine  of  Loretto  was  stripped  of  the 
treasures  piled  up  by  the  devotion  of  six  hundred  years. 
The  convents  of  Rome  were  pillaged.  The  tricoloured 
flag  floated  on  the  top  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo.  The 
successor  of  St.  Peter  was  carried  away  captive  by  the 
unbelievers.  He  died  a  prisoner  in  their  hands  ;  and 
even  the  honours  of  sepulture  were  long  withheld  from 
his  remains. 

It  is  not  strange  that,  in  the  year  1799,  even  saga- 
cious observers  should  have  thought  that,  at  length, 
the  hour  of  the  Church  of  Rome  was  come.  An  infi- 
del power  ascendant,  the  Pope  dying  in  captivity,  the 
most  illustrious  prelates  of  France  living  in  a  foreign 
country  on  Protestant  alms,  the  noblest  edifices  which 
the  munificence  of  former  ages  had  consecrated  to  the 
worship  of  God  turned  into  temples  of  Victory,  or 
into  banqueting-hcuses  for  political  societies,  or  into 
Theophilanthropic  chapels,  such  signs  might  well  be 
supposed  to  indicate  the  approaching  end  of  that  long 
domination. 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  347 

But  the  end  was  not  yet.  Again  doomed  to  death, 
the  milk-white  hind  was  still  fated  not  to  die.  Even 
before  the  funeral  rites  had  been  performed  cvsr  the 
ashes  of  Pius  the  Sixth,  a  great  reaction  had  com- 
menced, which,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  forty  years, 
appears  to  be  still  in  progress.  Anarchy  had  had  its 
day.  A  new  order  of  things  rose  out  of  the  confusion, 
new  dynasties,  new  laws,  new  titles ;  and  amidst  them 
emerged  the  ancient  religion.  The  Arabs  have  a  fable 
that  the  Great  Pyramid  was  built  by  antediluvian 
kings,  and  alone,  of  all  the  works  of  men,  bore  the 
weight  of  the  flood.  Such  as  this  was  the  fate  of  the 
Papacy.  It  had  been  buried  under  the  great  inunda- 
tion ;  but  its  deep  foundations  had  remained  unshaken ; 
and,  when  the  waters  abated,  it  appeared  alone  amidst 
the  ruins  of  a  world  which  had  passed  away.  The  re- 
public of  Holland  was  gone,  and  the  empire  of  Ger- 
many, and  the  great  Council  of  Venice,  and  the  old 
Helvetian  League,  and  the  House  of  Bourbon,  and  the 
parliaments  and  aristocracy  of  France.  Europe  was 
full  of  young  creations,  a  French  empire,  a  kingdom  of 
Italy,  a  Confederation  of  the  Rhine.  Nor  had  the  late 
events  affected  only  territorial  limits  and  political  insti- 
tutions. The  distribution  of  property,  the  composition 
and  spirit  of  society,  had,  through  great  part  of  Catholic 
Europe,  undergone  a  complete  change.  But  the  un- 
changeable Church  was  still  there. 

Some  future  historian,  as  able  and  temrerate  as  Pro- 
fessor Ranke,  will,  we  hope,  trace  the  progress  of  the 
Catholic  revival  of  the  nineteenth  century.  We  feel 
that  we  are  dra\v  ing  too  near  our  own  time,  and  that,  if 
we  go  on  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  saying  much  which 
may  be  supposed  to  indicate,  and  which  will  certainty 
excite  angry  feelings.  We  will,  therefore,  make  onty 


848  RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES. 

one  more  observation,  which,  in  our  opinion,  is  deserving 
of  serious  attention. 

During  the  eighteenth  century,  the  influence  of  the 
Church  of  Home  was  constantly  on  the  decline.  Un- 
belief made  extensive  conquests  in  all  the  Catholic 
countries  of  Europe,  and  in  some  countries  obtained  a 
complete  ascendency.  The  Papacy  was  at  length 
brought  so  low  as  to  be  an  object  of  derision  to  infidels, 
and  of  pity  rather  than  of  hatred  to  Protestants. 
During  the  nineteenth  century,  this  fallen  Church  has 
been  gradually  rising  from  her  depressed  state  and  re- 
conquering her  old  dominion.  No  person  who  calmly 
reflects  on  what,  within  the  last  few  years,  has  passed 
in  Spain,  in  Italy,  in  South  America,  in  Ireland,  in  the 
Netherlands,  in  Prussia,  even  in  France,  can  doubt  that 
the  power  of  this  Church  over  the  hearts  and  minds  of 
men,  is  now  greater  far  than  it  was  when  the  Encyclo- 
paedia and  the  Philosophical  Dictionary  appeared.  It 
is  surely  remarkable,  that  neither  the  moral  revolution 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  nor  the  moral  counter-revo- 
lution of  the  nineteenth,  should,  in  any  perceptible 
degree,  have  added  to  the  domain  of  Protestantism. 
During  the  former  period,  whatever  was  lost  to  Cathol- 
icism was  lost  also  to  Christianity ;  during  the  latter, 
whatever  was  regained  by  Christianity  in  Catholic  coun- 
tries was  regained  also  by  Catholicism.  We  should 
naturally  have  expected  that  many  minds,  on  the  way 
from  superstition  to  infidelity,  or  on  the  way  back  from 
infidelity  to  superstition,  would  have  stopped  at  an  in- 
termediate point.  Between  the  doctrines  taught  in  the 
schools  of  the  Jesuits,  and  those  which  were  maintained 
at  the  little  supper  parties  of  the  Baron  Holbach,  there  i3 
a  vast  interval,  in  which  the  human  mind,  it  should  seem 
Blight  find  for  itself  some  resting-place  more  satisfactory 


RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES.  8i9 

than  either  of  the  two  extremes.  And  at  the  time  of 
the  Reformation,  millions  found  such  a  resting-place 
Whole  nations  then  renounced  Popery  without  ceasing 
to  believe  in  a  first  cause,  in  a  future  life,  or  in  the  Di- 
vine mission  of  Jesus.  In  the  last  century,  on  tho 
other  hand,  when  a  Catholic  renrmneed  his  belief  in  tho 
real  presence,  it  was  a  tnousand  to  one  that  he  re- 
nounced his  belief  in  the  Gospel  too;  and,  when  the 
reaction  took  place,  with  belief  in  the  Gospel  came  back 
belief  in  the  real  presence. 

We  by  no  means  venture  to  deduce  from  these  pha> 
nomena  any  general  law  ;  but  we  think  it  a  most  re- 
markable fact,  that  no  Christian  nation,  which  did  not 
adopt  the  principles  of  the  Reformation  before  the  end 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  should  ever  have  adopted 
them.  Catholic  communities  have,  since  that  time, 
become  infidel  and  become  Catholic  again  ;  but  none 
has  become  Protestant. 

Here  we  close  this  hasty  sketch  of  one  of  the  most 
important  portions  of  the  history  of  mankind.  Our 
readers  will  have  great  reason  to  feel  obliged  to  us  if 
we  have  interested  them  sufficiently  to  induce  them  to 
peruse  Professor  Ranke's  book.  We  will  only  caution 
them  against  the  French  translation,  a  performance 
which,  in  our  opinion,  is  just  as  discreditable  to  the 
moral  character  of  the  person  from  whom  it  proceeds 
as  a  false  affidavit  or  a  forged  bill  of  exchange  would 
have  been,  and  advise  them  to  study  either  the  original, 
or  the  English  version,  in  which  the  sense  and  spirit  of 
the  original  arc;  admirably  preserved. 


LEIGH    HUNT.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  January,  1841.) 

WE  have  a  kindness  for  Mr.  Leigli  Hunt.  We  form 
our  judgment  of  him,  indeed,  only  from  events  of 
universal  notoriety,  from  his  own  works  and  from  the 
works  of  other  writers,  who  have  generally  abused 
him  in  the  most  rancorous  manner.  But,  unless  we 
are  greatly  mistaken,  he  is  a  very  clever,  a  very  honest, 
and  a  very  good-natured  man.  We  can  clearly  discern, 
together  with  many  merits,  many  faults  both  in  his 
writings  and  in  his  conduct.  But  we  really  think  that 
there  is  hardly  a  man  living  whose  merits  have  been  so 
grudgingly  allowed,  and  whose  faults  have  been  so 
cruelly  expiated. 

In  some  respects  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  is  excellently 
qualified  for  the  task  which  he  has  now  undertaken. 
His  style,  in  spite  of  its  mannerism,  nay,  partly  by 
reason  of  its  mannerism,  is  well  suited  for  light,  gar- 
rulous, desultory  ana,  half  critical,  half  biographical. 
We  do  not  always  agree  with  his  literary  judgments  ; 
but  we  find  in  him  what  is  very  rare  in  our  time,  the 
power  of  justly  appreciating  and  heartily  enjoying 
good  things  of  very  different  kinds.  He  can  adore 
Shakspeare  and  Spenser  without  denying  poetical 

1  The  Dramatic  Works  of  WYCHKRLEY,  CONGRKVE,  VANBRUGH,  and 
FARQCIIAR,  with  Biographical  and  Critical  Notices.  By  LEIGH  Hnur.  8va 
londoia:  1840. 


COMIC  DRAMATISTS  OF  THE  RESTORATION.       351 

genius  to  the  author  of  Alexander's  Feast,  or  fine 
observation,  rich  fancy,  and  exquisite  humour  to  him 
who  imagired  Will  Honeycomb  and  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley.  He  has  paid  particular  attention  to  the 
history  of  the  English  drama,  from  the  age  of  Elizabeth 
down  to  our  own  time,  and  has  eveiy  right  to  be  heard 
with  respect  on  that  subject. 

The  plays  to  which  he  now  acts  as  introducer  are, 
with  few  exceptions,  such  as,  in  the  opinion  of  many 
very^  respectable  people,  ought  not  to  be  reprinted. 
In  this  opinion  we  can  by  no  means  concur.  We 
cannot  wish  that  any  work  or  class  of  works  which 
has  exercised  a  great  influence  on  the  human  mind, 
and  which  illustrates  the  character  of  an  important 
epoch  in  letters,  politics  and  morals,  should  disappear 
from  the  world.  If  we  err  in  this  matter,  we  err 
with  the  gravest  men  and  bodies  of  men  in  the  empire, 
and  especially  with  the  Church  of  England,  and  with 
the  great  schools  of  learning  which  are  connected  with 
her.  The  whole  liberal  education  of  our  countrymen 
is  conducted  on  the  principle,  that  no  book  which  ia 
valuable,  either  by  reason  of  the  excellence  of  its 
style,  or  by  reason  of  the  light  which  it  throws  on 
the  history,  polity,  and  manners  of  nations,  should  be 
withheld  from  the  student  on  account  of  its  impurity. 
The  Athenian  Comedies,  in  which  there  are  scarcely 
a  hundred  lines  together  without  some  passage  of 
which  Rochester  would  have  been  ashamed,  have 
been  reprinted  at  the  Pitt  Press,  and  the  Clarendon 
Press,  under  the  direction  of  syndics  and  delegates 
appointed  by  the  Universities,  and  have  been  illus- 
trated with  notes  by  reverend,  very  reverend,  and 
right  reverend  commentators.  Every  year  the  most 
iistinguished  young  men  in  the  kingdom  are  examined 


852  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

by  bishops  and  professors  of  divinity  in  sucli  works  as 
the  Lysistrata  of  Aristophanes  and  the  Sixth  Satire  o* 
Juvenal.  There  is  certainly  something  a  little  ludi- 
crous in  the  idea  of  a  conclave  of  venerable  fathers  of 
the  church  praising  and  rewarding  a  lad  on  account  of 
his  intimate  acquaintance  with  Avritings  compared  with 
which  the  loosest  tale  in  Prior  is  modest.  But,  for -our 
own  part,  we  have  no  doubt  that  the  great  societies 
which  direct  the  education  of  the  English  gentry  have 
herein  judged  wisely.  It  is  unquestionable  that  an 
extensive  acquaintance  with  ancient  literature  enlarges 
and  enriches  the  mind.  It  is  unquestionable  that  a 
man  whose  mind  has  been  thus  enlarged  and  enriched 
is  likely  to  be  far  more  useful  to  the  state  and  to  the 
church  than  one  who  is  unskilled,  or  little  skilled,  in 
classical  learning.  On  the  other  hand,  we  find  it 
difficult  to  believe  that,  in  a  world  so  full  of  tempta- 
tion as  this,  any  gentleman  whose  life  would  have 
been  virtuous  if  he  had  not  read  Aristophanes  and 
Juvenal  will  be  made  vicious  by  reading  them.  A 
man  who,  exposed  to  all  the  influences  of  such  a  state 
of  society  as  that  in  which  we  live,  is  yet  afraid  of 
exposing  himself  to  the  influences  of  a  few  Greek  or 
Latin  verses,  acts,  we  think,  much  like  the  felon  who 
begged  the  sheriffs  to  let  him  have  an  umbrella  held 
over  his  head  from  the  door  of  Newgate  to  the  gallows, 
because  it  was  a  drizzling  morning,  and  he  was  apt  to 
take  cold. 

The  virtue  which  the  world  wants  is  a  healthful  vir- 
tue, not  a  valetudinarian  virtue,  a  virtue  which  can 
expose  itself  to  the  risks  inseparable  from  all  spirited 
exertion,  not  a  virtue  which  keeps  out  of  the  common 
air  for  fear  of  infection,  and  eschews  the  common  food 
JLS  too  stimulating.  It  would  be  indeed  absurd  to  at- 


o     THE  RESTORATION.  858 

tempt  to  keep  men  from  acquiring  those  qualifications 
which  fit  them  to  play  their  part  in  life  with  honour  to 
themselves  and  advantage  to  their  country,  for  the  sake 
of  preserving  a  delicacy  which  cannot  be  preserved,  a 
delicacy  which  a  walk  from  Westminster  to  the  Tem- 
ple is  sufficient  to  destroy. 

But  we  should  be  justly  chargeable  with  gross  incon- 
sistency if,  while  we  defend  the  policy  which  invites 
the  youth  of  our  country  to  study  such  writers  as  The- 
ocritus and  Catullus,  we  were  to  set  up  a  cry  against  a 
new  edition  of  the  Country  Wife  or  the  Way  of  the 
World.  The  immoral  English  writers  of  the  seven- 
teeth  century  are  indeed  much  less  excusable  than 
those  of  Greece  and  Rome.  But  the  worst  English 
writings  of  the  seventeenth  century  are  decent,  com- 
pared with  much  that  has  been  bequeathed  to  us  by 
Greece  and  Rome.  Plato,  we  have  little  doubt,  wag 
a  much  better  man  than  Sir  George  Etherege.  But 
Plato  has  written  things  at  which  Sir  George  Eth- 
erege would  have  shuddered.  Buckhurst  and  Sedley, 
even  in  those  wild  orgies  at  the  Cock  in  Bow  Street 
for  which  they  were  pelted  by  the  rabble  and  fined  by 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  would  never  have  dared 
to  hold  such  discourse  as  passed  between  Socrates  and 
Phajdrus  on  that  fine  summer  day  under  the  plane- 
tree,  while  the  fountain  warbled  at  their  feet,  and  the 
cicadas  chirped  overhead.  If  it  be,  as  we  think  it  is, 
desirable  that  an  English  gentleman  should  be  well  in- 
formed touching  the  government  and  the  manners  of 
little  commonwealths  which  both  in  place  and  time  are 
far  removed  from  us,  whose  independence  has  been 
more  than  two  thousand  years  extinguished,  whose 
•anguage  has  not  been  spoken  for  ages,  and  whose  an- 
cient magnificence  is  attested  only  by  a  few  broken 


K64  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

columns  and  friezes,  much  more  must  it  be  desirable  tdat 
he  should  be  intimately  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
the  public  mind  of  his  own  country,  and  with  the  causes, 
the  nature,  and  the  extent  of  those  revolutions  of  opinion 
and  feeling  which,  during  the  last  two  centuries,  have 
alternately  raised  and  depressed  the  standard  of  our 
national  morality.  And  knowledge  of  this  sort  is  to  bo 
very  sparingly  gleaned  from  Parliamentary  debates, 
from  state  papers,  and  from  the  works  of  grave  histo- 
rians. It  must  either  not  be  acquired  at  all,  or  it  must 
be  acquired  by  the  perusal  -of  the  light  literature  which 
lias  at  various  periods  been  fashionable.  We  are  there- 
fore by  no  means  disposed  to  condemn  this  publication, 
though  we  certainly  cannot  recommend  the  handsome 
volume  before  us  as  an  appropriate  Christmas  present 
for  young  ladies. 

We  have  said  that  we  think  the  present  publication 
perfectly  justifiable.  But  we  can  by  no  means  agree 
with  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  who  seems  to  hold  that  there  13 
little  or  no  ground  for  the  charge  of  immorality  so 
often  brought  against  the  literature  of  the  Restoration. 
We  do  not  blame  him  for  not  bringing  to  the  judg- 
ment-seat the  merciless  rigour  of  Lord  Angelo ;  but 
we  really  think  that  such  flagitious  and  impudent  of- 
fenders as  those  wrho  are  now  at  the  bar  deserved  at 
least  the  gentle  rebuke  of  Escalus.  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt 
treats  the  whole  matter  a  little  too  much  in  the  easy 
Btyle  of  Lucio  ;  and  perhaps  his  exceeding  lenity  dis- 
poses us  to  be  somewhat  too  severe. 

And  yet  it  is  not  easy  to  be  too  severe.  For  in 
truth  this  part  of  our  literature  is  a  disgrace  to  our  lan- 
guage and  our  national  character.  It  is  clever,  indeed, 
and  very  entertaining ;  but  it  is,  in  the  most  emphatic 
lense  of  the  words,  "  earthly,  sensual,  devilish."  Its 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  355 

mdecency,  though  perpetually  such  as  is  condemned 
not  less  by  the  rules  of  good  taste  than  by  those  of 
morality,  is  not,  in  our  opinion,  so  disgraceful  a  fault  aa 
its  singularly  inhuman  spirit.  We  have  here  Belial, 
not  as  when  he  inspired  Ovid  and  Ariosto,  "  graceful 
and  humane,"  but  with  the  iron  eye  and  cruel  sneer  of 
Mephistophiles.  We  find  ourselves  in  a  world,  in 
which  the  ladies  are  like  very  profligate,  impudent,  and 
unfeeling  men,  and  in  which  the  men  are  too  bad  for 
any  place  but  Pandaamonium  or  Norfolk  Island.  We 
are  surrounded  by  foreheads  of  bronze,  hearts  like  the 
nether  millstone,  and  tongues  set  on  fire  of  hell. 

Dryden  defended  or  excused  his  own  offences  and 
those  of  his  contemporaries  by  pleading  the  example  of 
the  earlier  English  dramatists ;  and  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt 
seems  to  think  that  there  is  force  in  the  plea.  We  al- 
together differ  from  his  opinion.  The  crime  charged 
is  not  mere  coarseness  of  expression.  The  terms  which 
are  delicate  in  one  age  become  gross  in  the  next.  The 
diction  of  the  English  version  of  the  Pentateuch  is 
sometimes  such  as  Addison  would  not  have  ventured  to 
imitate  ;  and  Addison,  the  standard  of  moral  purity  in 
his  own  age,  used  many  phrases  which  are  now  pro- 
scribed. Whether  a  thing  shall  be  designated  by  a 
plain  noun  substantive  or  by  a  circumlocution  is  mere 
matter  of  fashion.  Morality  is  not  at  all  interested  in  the 
question.  But  morality  is  deeply  interested  in  this,  that 
what  is  immoral  shall  not  be  presented  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  young  and  susceptible  in  constant  connection 
«rith  what  is  attractive.  For  every  person  who  has  ob- 
served the  operation  of  the  law  of  association  in  his  own 
mind  and  in  the  minds  of  others  knows  that  whatever 
*s  constantly  presented  to  the  imagination  in  connection 
with  what  is  attractive  will  itself  become  attractive. 


856  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

There  is  undoubtedly  a  great  deal  of  indelicate  writing 
in  Fletcher  and  Massinger,  and  more  than  might  be 
wished  even  in  Ben  ^Jonson  and  Shakspeare,  who  are 
comparatively  pure.  But  it  is  impossible  to  trace  in 
their  plays  any  systematic  attempt  to  associate  vice  with 
those  things  which  men  value  most  and  desire  most, 
and  virtue  with  every  thing  ridiculous  and  degrading. 
And  such  a  systematic  attempt  we  find  in  the  whola 
dramatic  literature  of  the  generation  which  followed 
the  return  of  Charles  the  Second.  We  will  take,  as 
an  instance  of  what  we  mean,  a  single  subject  of  the 
highest  importance  to  the  happiness  of  mankind,  conju- 
gal fidelity.  We  can  at  present  hardly  call  to  mind  a 
single  English  play,  written  before  the  civil  war,  in 
which  the  character  of  a  seducer  of  married  women  is 
represented  in  a  favourable  light.  We  remember 
many  plays  in  which  such  persons  are  baffled,  exposed, 
covered  with  derision,  and  insulted  by  triumphant  hus- 
bands. Such  is  the  fate  of  Falstaff,  with  all  his  wit 
and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Such  is  the  fate  of  Bri- 
sac  in  Fletcher's  Elder  Brother,  and  of  Ricardo  and 
Ubaldo  in  Massinger's  Picture.  Sometimes,  as  in  the 
Fatal  Dowry  and  Love's  Cruelty,  the  outraged  honour 
of  families  is  repaired  by  a  bloody  revenge.  If  now 
and  then  the  lover  is  represented  as  an  accomplished 
man,  and  the  husband  as  a  person  of  weak  or  odious 
character,  this  only  makes  the  triumph  of  female  virtue 
the  more  signal,  as  in  Jonson's  Celia  and  Mrs.  Fibs- 
dottrel,  and  in  Fletcher's  Maria.  In  general  we  will 
venture  to  say  that  the  dramatists  of  the  age  of  Eliza- 
beth and  James  the  First  either  treat  the  breach  of  the 
marriage-vow  as  a  serious  crime,  or,  if  they  treat  it  as 
matter  for  laughter,  turn  the  laugh  against  the  gallant. 
On  the  contrary,  during  the  forty  years  which  fol- 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  357 

lowe-1  the  Restoration,  the  whole  body  of  the  drama- 
tists invariably  represent  adultery,  we  do  not  say  as  a 
peccadillo,  we  do  not  say  as  an  error  which  the  vio- 
lence of  passion  may  excuse,  but  as  the  calling  of  a  fine 
gentleman,  as  a  grace  without  which  his  character 
would  be  imperfect.  It  is  as  essential  to  his  breeding 
and  to  his  place  in  society  that  he  should  make  love  to 
the  wives  of  his  neighbours  as  that  he  should  know 
French,  or  that  he  should  have  a  sword  at  his  side. 
In  all  this  there  is  no  passion,  and  scarcely  any  thing 
that  can  be  called  preference.  The  hero  intrigues 
just  as  he  wears  a  wig ;  because,  if  he  did  not,  he 
would  be  a  queer  fellow,  a  city  prig,  perhaps  a  Puri- 
tan. All  the  agreeable  qualities  are  always  given  to 
the  gallant.  All  the  contempt  and  aversion  are  the 
portion  of  the  unfortunate  husband.  Take  Dryden 
for  example ;  and  compare  Woodall  with  Brainsick,  or 
Lorenzo  writh  Gomez.  Take  Wycherley ;  and  com- 
pare Homer  with  Pinchwife.  Take  Vanbrugh  ;  and 
compare  Constant  with  Sir  John  Brute.  Take  Far- 
quhar ;  and  compare  Archer  with  Squire  Sullen. 
Take  Congreve  ;  and  compare  Bellmour  with  Fondle- 
wife,  Careless  with  Sir  Paul  Plyant,  or  Scandal  with 
Foresight.  In  all  these  cases,  and  in  many  more  winch 
might  be  named,  the  dramatist  evidently  does  his  best 
to  make  the  person  who  commits  the  injury  graceful, 
sensible,  and  spirited,  and  the  person  who  suffers  it  a 
fool,  or  a  tyrant,  or  both. 

Mr.  Charles  Lamb,  indeed,  attempted  to  set  up  a 
defence  for  this  way  of  writing.  The  dramatists  of 
the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century  are  not, 
according  to  him,  to  be  tried  by  the  standard  of  morality 
winch  exists,  and  ouo;ht  to  exist,  in  real  life.  Their 

'  O  ' 

world  is   a   conventional   world.      Their   heroes   and 


358  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

heroines  belong,  not  to  England,  not  to  Christendom, 
but  to  an  Utopia  of  gallantry,  to  a  Fairyland,  where 
the  Bible  and  Burn's  Justice  are  unknown,  where  a 
prank  which  on  this  earth  Avould  be  rewarded  with  the 
pillory  is  merely  matter  for  a  peal  of  elvish  laughter. 
A  real  Horner,  a  real  Careless,  would,  it  is  admitted, 
be  exceedingly  bad  men.  But  to  predicate  morality 
or  immorality  of  the  Horner  of  Wycherley  and  the 
Careless  of  Congreve  is  as  absurd  as  it  would  be  to 
arraign  a  sleeper  for  his  dreams.  "  They  belong  to 
the  regions  of  pure  comedy,  where  no  culd  moral 
reigns.  When  we  are  among  them  we  arc;  among  a 
chaotic  people.  We  are  not  to  judge  them  by  our 
usages.  No  reverend  institutions  are  insulted  by  their 
proceedings,  for  they  have  none  among  them.  No 
peace  of  families  is  violated,  for  no  family  ties  exist 
among  them.  There  is  neither  right  nor  wrong, 
gratitude  or  its  opposite,  claim  or  duty,  paternity  or 
sonship." 

This  is,  we  believe,  a  fair  summary  of  Mr.  Lamb's 
doctrine.  We  are  sure  that  we  do  not  wish  to  repre- 
sent him  unfairly.  For  we  admire  his  genius  ;  we 
love  the  kind  nature  which  appears  in  all  his  writing.* ; 
and  we  cherish  his  memory  as  much  as  if  we  had 
known  him  personally.  But  we  must  plainly  say  that 
his  argument,  though  ingenious,  is  altogether  sophistical. 

Of  course  we  perfectly  understand  that  it  is  possible 
for  a  writer  to  create  a  conventional  world  in  which 
things  forbidden  by  the  Decalogue  and  the  Statute 
Book  shall  be  lawful,  and  yet  that  the  exhibition  may 
be  harmless,  or  even  edifying.  For  example,  we  sup- 
pose that  the  most  austere  critics  would  not  accuse 
Fonelon  of  impiety  and  immorality  on  account  of  his 
Telemachus  and  his  Dialogues  of  the  Dead.  In  Tele* 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  859 

maclms  and  the  Dialogues  of  the  Dead  we  have  a  false 
religion,  and  consequently  a  morality  which  is  in  some 
points  incorrect.  We  have  a  right  and  a  wrong  differ 
ing  from  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  real  life.  It  is 
represented  as  the  first  duty  of  men  to  pay  honour  to 
Jove  and  Minerva.  Philocles,  who  employs  his  leisure 
in  making  graven  images  of  these  deities,  is  extolled  for 
liis  piety  in  a  way  which  contrasts  singularly  with  the 
expressions  of  Isaiah  on  the  same  subject.  The  dead 
are  judged  by  Minos,  and  rewarded  with  lasting  happi- 
ness for  actions  which  Fenelon  would  have  been  the  first 
to  pronounce  splendid  sins.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
Mr.  Southey's  Mahommedan  and  Hindoo  heroes  and 
heroines.  In  Thalaba,  to  speak  in  derogation  of  the 
Arabian  impostor  is  blasphemy :  to  drink  wine  is  a  crime : 
to  perform  ablutions  and  to  pay  honour  to  the  holy  cities 
are  works  of  merit.  In  the  curse  of  Kehama,  Kailyal  is 
commended  for  her  devotion  to  the  statue  of  Mariataly, 
the  goddess  of  the  poor.  But  certainly  no  person  will 
accuse  Mr.  Southey  of  having  promoted  or  intended  to 
promote  either  Islamism  or  Brahminism. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  the  conventional  worlds  of  Fen- 
elon and  Mr.  Southey  are  unobjectionable.  In  the  first 
place,  they  are  utterly  unlike  the  real  world  in  which 
we  live.  The  state  of  society,  the  laws  even  of  the 
physical  world,  are  so  different  from  those  with  which 
we  are  familiar,  that  we  cannot  be  shocked  at  finding 
the  morality  also  very  different.  But  in  truth  the 
morality  of  these  conventional  worlds  differs  from  the 
morality  of  the  real  world  only  in  points  where  there 
is  no  danger  that  the  real  world  will  ever  go  wrong. 
The  generosity  and  docility  of  Telemachus,  the  forti- 
tude, the  modesty,  the  filial  tenderness  of  Kailyal,  are 
virtues  of  all  ages  and  nations.  And  there  was  very 


860  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

/ 

Jttle  danger  that  the  Dauphin  would  worship  Minerva, 
or  that  an  English  damsel  would  dance,  with  a  bucket 
on  her  head,  before  the  statue  of  Mariataly. 

The  case  is  widely  different  with  what  Mr.  Charles 
Lamb  calls  the  conventional  world  of  Wycherley  and 
Congreve.  Here  the  garb,  the  manners,  the  topics  of 
conversation  are  those  of  the  real  town  and  of  the  pass- 
ing day.  The  hero  is  in  all  superficial  accomplishments 
exactly  the  fine  gentleman  whom  every  youth  in  the  pit 
would  gladly  resemble.  The  heroine  is  the  fine  lady 
whom  every  youth  in  the  pit  would  gladly  marry.  The 
scene  is  laid  in  some  place  which  is  as  well  known  to 
the  audience  as  their  own  houses,  in  St.  James's  Park, 
or  Hyde  Park,  or  Westminster  Hall.  The  lawyer 
bustles  about  with  his  bag,  between  the  Common  Pleas 
and  the  Exchequer.  The  Peer  calls  for  his  carriage  to 
go  to  the  House  of  Lords  on  a  private  bill.  A  hundred 
little  touches  are  employed  to  make  the  fictitious  world 
appear  like  the  actual  world.  And  the  immorality  ia 
of  a  sort  which  never  can  be  out  of  date,  and  which  all 
the  force  of  religion,  law,  and  public  opinion  united  can 
but  imperfectly  restrain. 

In  the  name  of  art,  as  well  as  in  the  name  of  virtue, 
we  protest  against  the  principle  that  the  world  of  puro 
comedy  is  one  into  which  no  moral  enters.  If  comedy 
be  an  imitation,  under  whatever  conventions,  of  real 
life,  how  is  it  possible  that  it  can  have  no  reference 
to  the  great  rule  which  directs  life,  and  to  feelings 
which  are  called  forth  by  every  incident  of  life  ?  If 
what  Mr.  Charles  Lamb  says  were  correct,  the  infer- 
ence .would  be  that  these  dramatists  did  not  in  the 
least  understand  the  very  first  principles  of  their  craft. 
Pure  landscape-painting  into  which  no  light  or  shade 
enters,  pure  portrait-painting  into  which  no  expression 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  _/   861 

enters,  are  phrases  less  at  variance  with  sound  criticism 
than  pure  comedy  into  which  no  moral  enters. 

But  it  is  not  the  fact  that  the  world  of  these  drama- 
tists is  a  world  into  which  no  moral  enters.  Morality 
constantly  enters  into  that  world,  a  sound  morality,  and 
an  unsound  morality ;  the  sound  morality  to  be  in- 
sulted, derided,  associated  with  every  thing  mean  and 
hateful ;  the  unsound  morality  to  be  set  off  to  every 
advantage,  and  inculcated  by  all  methods,  direct  and 
indirect.  It  is  not  the  fact  that  none  of  the  inhabitant? 
of  this  conventional  world  feel  reverence  for  sacred 
institutions  and  family  ties.  Fondlewife,  Pinchwife, 
every  person  in  short  of  narrow  understanding  and 
disgusting  manners,  expresses  that  reverence  strongly. 
The  heroes  and  heroines,  too,  have  a  moral  code  of  their 
own,  an  exceedingly  bad  one,  but  not,  as  Mr.  Charles 
Lamb  seems  to  think,  a  code  existing  only  in  the  imag- 
ination of  dramatists.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  code 
actually  received  and  obeyed  by  great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple. We  need  not  go  to  Utopia  or  Fairyland  to  find 
them.  They  are  near  at  hand.  Every  night  some  of 
them  cheat  at  the  hells  in  the  Quadrant,  and  others 
pace  the  Piazza  in  Covent  Garden.  Without  flying  to 
Nephelococcygia  or  to  the  Court  of  Queen  Mab,  we 
can  meet  with  sharpers,  bullies,  hard-hearted  impudent 
debauchees,  and  women  worthy  of  such  paramours. 
The  morality  of  the  Country  Wife  and  the  Old  Bach- 
elor is  the  morality,  not  as  Mr.  Charles  Lamb  main- 
tains, of  an  unreal  world,  but  of  a  world  which  is  a 
great  deal  too  real.  It  is  the  morality,  not  of  a  chaotic 
people,  but  of  low  town-rakes,  and  of  those  ladies  whom 
the  newspapers  call  "  dashing  Cyprians."  And  the 
question  is  simply  this,  whether  a  man  of  genius  who 
yonstantly  and  systematically  endeavours  to  make  this 

VOL.  IV.  16 


862  COMIC   DRAMATISTS 

Bort  of  character  attractive,  by  uniting  it  with  beauty, 
grace,  dignity,  spirit,  a  high  social  position,  popularity 5 
literature,  wit,  taste,  knowledge  of  the  world,  brilliant 
success  in  every  undertaking,  does  or  does  not  make  an 
ill  use  of  his  powers.  We  own  that  we  are  unable  to 
understand  how  this  question  can  be  answered  in  any 
way  but  one. 

It  must,  indeed,  be  acknowledged,  in  justice  to  the 
•writers  of  whom  we  have  spoken  thus  severely,  that 
they  were,  to  a  great  extent,  the  creatures  of  their  age. 
And  if  it  be  asked  why  that  age  encouraged  immorality 
which  no  other  age  would  have  tolerated,  we  have  no 
hesitation  in  answering  that  this  great  depravation  of 
the  national  taste  was  the  effect  of  the  prevalence 
of  Puritanism  under  the  Commonwealth. 

To  punish  public  outrages  on  morals  and  religion  ia 
unquestionably  within  the  competence  of  rulers.  But 
when  a  government,  not  content  with  requiring  de- 
cency, requires  sanctity,  it  oversteps  the  bounds  which 
mark  its  proper  functions.  And  it  may  be  laid  down 
as  a  universal  rule  that  a  government  which  attempts 
more  than  it  ought  will  perform  less.  A  lawgiver  who, 
\n  order  to  protect  distressed  borrowers,  limits  the  rate 
of  interest,  either  makes  it  impossible  for  the  objects  of 
Ins  care  to  borrow  at  all,  or  places  them  at  the  mercy 
of  the  worst  class  of  usurers.  A  lawgiver  who,  from 
tenderness  for  labouring  men,  fixes  the  hours  of  their 
work  and  the  amount  of  their  wages,  is  certain  to  make 
them  far  more  wretched  than  he  found  them.  And  so 
a  government  which,  not  content  with  repressing  scan- 
dalous excesses,  demands  from  its  subjects  fervent  and 
austere  piety,  will  soon  discover  that,  while  attempting 
to  render  an  impossible  service  to  the  cause  of  virtue, 
it  has  in  truth  only  promoted  vice. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  363 

For  what  are  the  means  by  which  a  government 
jan  effect  its  ends  ?  Two  only,  reward  and  punish- 
ment; powerful  means,  indeed,  for  influencing  the 
exterior  act,  but  altogether  impotent  for  the  purpose 
of  touching  the  heart.  A  public  functionary  who  is 
told  that  he  will  be  promoted  if  he  is  a  devout  Cath- 
olic, and  turned  out  of  his  place  if  he  is  not,  will 
probably  go  to  mass  every  morning,  exclude  meat 
from  his  table  on  Fridays,  shrive  himself  regularly,  and 
perhaps  let  his  superiors  know  that  he  wears  a  hair 
shirt  next  his  skin.  Under  a  Puritan  government,  a 
person  who  is  apprised  that  piety  is  essential  to  thriving 
in  the  world  will  be  strict  in  the  observance  of  the  Sun- 
day, or,  as  he  will  call  it,  Sabbath,  and  will  avoid  a 
theatre  as  if  it  were  plague-stricken.  Such  a  show  of 
religion  as  this  the  hope  of  gain  and  the  fear  of  loss 
will  produce,  at  a  week's  notice,  in  any  abundance 
which  a  government  may  require.  But  under  this 
show,  sensuality,  ambition,  avarice,  and  hatred  retain 
unimpaired  power,  and  the  seeming  convert  has  only 
added  to  the  vices  of  a  man  of  the  world  all  the  still 
darker  vices  which  are  engendered  by  the  constant 
practice  of  dissimulation.  The  truth  cannot^be  long 
concealed.  The  public  discovers  that  the  grave  per- 
sons who  are  proposed  to  it  as  patterns  are  more  utterly 
destitute  of  moral  principle  and  of  moral  sensibility 
than  avowed  libertines.  It  sees  that  these  Pharisees 
are  farther  removed  from  real  goodness  than  publicans 
and  harlots.  And,  as  usual,  it  rushes  to  the  extreme 
opposite  to  that  which  it  quits.  It  considers  a  high  re- 
ligious profession  as  a  sure  mark  of  meanness  and  de- 
pravity. On  the  very  first  day  on  which  the  restraint 
of  fear  is  taken  away,  and  on  which  men  can  venture 
k>  say  what  they  think,  a  frightful  peal  of  blasphemy 


864  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

and  ribaldry  proclaims  that  the  short-sighted  policy 
which  aimed  at  making  a  nation  of  saints  has  made 
a  nation  of  scoffers. 

It  was  thus  in  France  about  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  in  his  old 
age  became  religious :  he  determined  that  his  subjects 
should  be  religious  too :  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
knitted  his  brows  if  he  observed  at  his  levee  or  near  his 
dinner-table  any  gentleman  who  neglected  the  duties 
enjoined  by  the  church,  and  rewarded  piety  with  blue 
ribands,  invitations  to  Marli,  governments,  pensions, 
and  regiments.  Forthwith  Versailles  became,  in  every 
thing  but  dress,  a  convent.  The  pulpits  and  confes- 
sionals were  surrounded  by  swords  and  embroidery. 
The  Marshals  of  France  were  much  in  prayer;  and 
there  was  hardly  one  among  the  Dukes  and  Peers  who 
did  not  carry  good  little  books  in  his  pocket,  fast  during 
Lent,  and  communicate  at  Easter.  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  who  had  a  great  share  in  the  blessed  work, 
boasted  that  devotion  had  become  quite  the  fashion. 
A  fashion  indeed  it  was  ;  and  like  a  fashion  it  passed 
away.  No  sooner  had  the  old  king  been  carried  to  St. 
Denis  than  the  whole  court  unmasked.  Every  man 
hastened  to  indemnify  himself,  by  the  excess  of  licen- 
tiousness and  impudence,  for  years  of  mortification. 
The  same  persons  who,  a  few  months  before,  with 
ineek  voices  and  demure  looks,  had  consulted  divines 
about  the  state  of  their  souls,  now  surrounded  the  mid- 
uight  table  where,  amidst  the  bounding  of  champagne 
,}orks,  a  drunken  prince,  enthroned  between  Duboia 
ii;a  Madame  de  Parabere,  hiccoughed  out  atheistical 

O 

Arguments  and  obscene  jests.  The  early  part  of  the 
reign  of  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  had  been  a  time  of 
license  ;  but  the  most  dissolute  men  of  that  cen- 


OF    THE  3ESTORATIOX.  365 

oration   would    have    blushed    at    the   orgies    of    the 
Ilegency. 

It  was  the  same  with  our  fathers  in  the  time  of  the 
Great  Civil  War.  We  are  by  no  means  unmindful  of 
the  great  debt  which  mankind  owes  to  the  Puritans 
of  that  time,  the  deliverers  of  England,  the  founders 
of  the  American  Commonwealths.  But  in  the  day 
of  their  power,  those  men  committed  one  great  fault, 
which  left  deep  and  lasting  traces  in  the  national  char- 
acter and  manners.  They  mistook  the  end  and  over- 
rated the  force  of  government.  They  determined,  not 
merely  to  protect  religion  and  public  morals  from  in- 
Fult,  an  object  for  which  the  civil  sword,  in  discreet 
hands,  may  be  beneficially  employed,  but  to  make  the 
people  committed  to  their  rule  truly  devout.  Yet, 
if  they  had  only  reflected  on  events  which  they  had 
themselves  witnessed  and  in  which  they  had  them- 
selves borne  a  great  part,  they  would  have  seen  what 
was  likely  to  be  the  result  of  their  enterprise.  They 
had  lived  under  a  government  which,  during  a  long 
course  of  years,  did  all  that  could  be  done,  by  lavish 
bounty  and  by  rigorous  punishment,  to  enforce  con- 
formity to  the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the  Church 
of  England.  No  person  suspected  of  hostility  to  that 
church  had  the  smallest  chance  of  obtaining  favour  at 
the  court  of  Charles.  Avowed  dissent  was  punished 
by  imprisonment,  by  ignominious  exposure,  by  cruel 
mutilations,  and  by  ruinous  fines.  And  the  event  had 
bean  that  the  Church  had  fallen,  and  had,  in  its  fall, 
dragged  down  with  it  a  monarchy  which  had  stood  six 
hundred  years.  The  Puritan  might  have  learned,  if 
from  nothing  else,  yet  from  his  own  recent  victory, 
that  governments  which  attempt  things  beyond  their 
reach  are  likely  not  merely  to  fail,  but  to  produce  an 


366  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

effect  directly  the  opposite  of  that  which  they  contem« 
plate  as  desirable. 

All  this  was  overlooked.  The  saints  were  to  inherit 
the  earth.  The  theatres  were  closed.  The  fine  arts 
were  placed  under  absurd  restraints.  Vices  which  had 
never  before  been  even  misdemeanors  were  made 
capital  felonies.  It  was  solemnly  resolved  by  Parlia- 
ment "  that  no  person  shall  be  employed  but  such  as 
the  House  shall  be  satisfied  of  his  real  godliness."  The 
pious  assembly  had  a  Bible  lying  on  the  table  for  refer- 
ence. If  they  had  consulted  it  they  might  have  learned 
that  the  wheat  and  the  tares  grow  together  inseparably, 
and  must  either  be  spared  together  or  rooted  up  together. 
To  know  whether  a  man  was  really  godly  was  impossi- 
ble. But  it  was  easy  to  know  whether  he  had  a  plain 
dress,  lank  hair,  no  starch  in  his  linen,  no  gay  furniture 
in  his  house  ;  whether  he  talked  through  his  nose,  and 
showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes  ;  whether  he  named  his 
children  Assurance,  Tribulation,  and  Maher-shalal- 
hash-baz ;  whether  he  avoided  Spring  Garden  when 
in  town,  and  abstained  from  hunting  and  hawking 
when  in  the  country ;  whether  he  expounded  hard 
scriptures  to  his  troops  of  dragoons,  and  talked  in  a 
committee  of  ways  and  means  about  seeking  the  Lord. 
These  were  tests  which  could  easily  be  applied.  The 
misfortune  was  that  they  were  tests  which  proved 
nothing.  Such  as  they  were,  they  were  employed  by 
Ihe  dominant  party.  And  the  consequence  was  that  a 
crowd  of  impostors,  in  every  walk  of  life,  began  to 
mimic  and  to  caricature  what  wrere  then  regarded  as 
the  outward  signs  of  sanctity.  The  nation  was  not 
duped.  The  restraints  of  that  gloomy  time  wtre  such 
as  would  have  been  impatiently  borne,  if  imposed  by 
men  who  were  universally  believed  to  be  saints. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  367 

Those  restraints  became  altogether  insupportable  when 
they  were  known  to  be  kept  up  for  the  profit  of 
hypocrites.  It  is  quite  certain  that,  even  if  the  royal 
family  had  never  returned,  even  if  Richard  Cromwell 
or  Henry  Cromwell  had  been  at  the  head  of  the  ad< 
ministration,  there  would  have  been  a  great  relaxation 
of  manners.  Before  the  Restoration  many  signs  in- 
dicated that  a  period  of  license  was  at  hand.  The 
Restoration  crashed  for  a  time  the  Puritan  party,  and 
placed  supreme  power  in  the  hands  of  a  libertine. 
The  political  counter-revolution  assisted  the  moral 
counter-revolution,  and  was  in  turn  assisted  by  it.  A 
period  of  wild  and  desperate  dissoluteness  followed. 
Even  in  remote  manor-houses  and  hamlets  the  change 
was  in  some  degree  felt ;  but  in  London  the  outbreak 
of  debauchery  was  appalling ;  and  in  London  the 
places  most  deeply  infected  were  the  Palace,  the  quar- 
ters inhabited  by  the  aristocracy,  and  the  Inns  of 
Oourt.  It  was  on  the  support  of  these  parts  of  the 
town  that  the  playhouses  depended.  The  character 
of  the  drama  became  conformed  to  the  character  of  its 
patrons.  The  comic  poet  was  the  mouthpiece  of  the 
most  deeply  corrupted  part  of  a  corrupted  society. 
And  in  the  plays  before  us  we  find,  distilled  and  con- 
densed, the  essential  spirit  of  the  fashionable  world 
during  the  Anti-puritan  reaction. 

The  Puritan  had  affected  formality  ;  the  comic  poet 
laughed  at  decorum.  The  Puritan  had  frowned  at 
innocent  diversions  ;  the  comic  poet  took  under  his 
patronage  the  most  flagitious  excesses.  The  Puritan 
had  canted  ;  the  comic  poet  blasphemed.  The  Puritan 
nad  made  an  affair  of  gallantry  felony  without  benefit 
of  clergy  ;  the  comic  poet  represented  it  as  an  honour- 
able distinction.  The  Puritan  spoke  with  disdain  of 


S68  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

the  low  standard  of  popular  morality ;  his  life  was 
regulated  by  a  far  more  rigid  code ;  his  virtue  was 
sustained  by  motives  unknown  to  men  of  the  world. 
Unhappily  it  had  been  amply  proved  in  many  cases, 
and  might  well  be  suspected  in  many  more,  that  these 
high  pretensions  were  unfounded.  Accordingly,  the 
fashionable  circles,  and  the  comic  poets  who  were  tho 
spokesmen  of  those  circles,  took  up  the  notion  that 
all  professions  of  piety  and  integrity  were  to  be  con- 
strued by  the  rule  of  contrary ;  that  it  might  well  be 
doubted  whether  there  was  such  a  thing  as  virtue 
in  the  world  ;  but  that,  at  all  events,  a  person  who 
affected  to  be  better  than  his  neighbours  was  sure  to 
be  a  knave. 

In  the  old  drama  there  had  been  much  that  was  rep- 
rehensible. But  whoever  compares  even  the  least  dec- 
orous plays  of  Fletcher  with  those  contained  in  the 
volume  before  us  will  see  how  much  the  profligacy 
which  follows  a  period  of  overstrained  austerity  goes 
beyond  the  \profligacy  which  precedes  such  a  period. 
The  nation  resembled  the  demoniac  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment. The  Puritans  boasted  that  the  unclean  spirit 
was  cast  out.  The  house  was  empty,  swept,  and  gar- 
lished ;  and  for  a  time  the  expelled  tenant  wandered 
ihrough  dry  places  seeking  relst  and  finding  none.  But 
the  force  of  the  exorcism  was  spent.  The  fiend  re- 
turned to  his  abode ;  and  returned  not  alone.  He 
took  to  him  seven  other  spirits  more  wicked  thin  him- 
self. They  entered  in,  and  dwelt  together  :  and  the 
second  possession  was  worse  than  the  first. 

We  Avill  now,  as  far  as  our  limits  will  permit,  pass  in 
review  the  writers  to  whom  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  has  intro- 
duced us.  Of  the  four,  Wycherley  stands,  we  think, 
last  in  literary  merit,  but  first  in  order  of  time,  and 
first,  beyond  all  doubt,  in  immora1i'fi'. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  369 

WILLIAM  WYCHERLEY  was  born  in  1640.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  Shropshire  gentleman  of  old  family,  and  of 
what  was  then  accounted  a  good  estate.  The  prop- 
erty was  estimated  at  six  hundred  a  year,  a  fortune 
winch,  among  the  fortunes  at  that  time,  probably 
ranked  as  a  fortune  of  tw*o  thousand  a  year  would  rank 
in  our  days. 

William  was  an  infant  when  the  civil  war  broke 
out ;  and,  while  he  was  still  in  his  rudiments,  a  Pres- 
byterian hierarchy  and  a  republican  government  were 
established  on  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  church  and 
throne.  Old  Mr.  Wycherley  was  attached  to  the 
royal  cause,  and  was  not  disposed  to  intrust  the  educa- 
tion of  his  heir  to  the  solemn  Puritans  who  now  ruled 
the  universities  and  public  schools.  Accordingly  the 
young  gentleman  was  sent  at  fifteen  to  France.  He 
resided  some  time  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Duke  of 
Montausier,  chief  of  one  of  the  noblest  families  of  Tou- 
raine.  The  Duke's  wife,  a  daughter  of  the  house  of 
Rambouillet,  was  a  finished  specimen  of  those  talents 
and  accomplishments  for  which  her  race  was  celebrated. 
The  young  foreigner  was  introduced  to  the  splendid 
circle  which  surrounded  the  duchess,  and  there  he  ap- 
pears to  have  learned  some  good  and  some  evil.  In  a 
few  years  he  returned  to  his  country  a  fine  gentleman 
and  a  Papist.  His  conversion,  it  may  safely  be  af- 
firmed, was  the  effect,  not  of  any  strong  impression  on 
his  understanding  or  feelings,  but  partly  of  intercourse 
with  an  agreeable  society  in  which  the  Church  of  Rome 
was  the  fashion,  and  partly  of  that  aversion  to  Calvin- 
istic  austerities  which  was  then  almost  universal  among 
young  Englishmen  of  parts  and  spirit,  and  which,  at 
»ne  time,  seemed  likely  to  make  one  half  of  them  Cath- 
olics, and  the  other  half  Atheists. 


S70  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

But  the  Restoration  came.  The  universities  were 
again  in  loyal  hands  ;  and  there  was  reason  to  hope 
that  there  would  be  again  a  national  church  fit  for  a 
gentleman.  Wycherley  became  a  member  of  Queen's 
College,  Oxford,  and  abjured  the  errors  of  the  Church 
of  Rome.  The  somewhat  equivocal  glory  of  turning, 
for  a  short  time,  a  good-for-nothing  Papist  into  a  good- 
for-nothing  Protestant  is  ascribed  to  Bishop  Barlow. 

Wycherley  left  Oxford  without  taking  a  degree,  and 
entered  at  the  Temple,  where  he  lived  gaily  for  some 
years,  observing  the  humours  of  the.  town,  enjoying  its 
pleasures,  and  picking  up  just  as  much  law  as  was  nec- 
essary to  make  the  character  of  a  pettifogging  attorney 
or  of  a  litigious  client  entertaining  in  a  comedy. 

From  an  early  age  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  amus- 
ing himself  by  writing.  Some  wretched  lines  of  his  on 
the  Restoration  are  still  extant.  Had  he  devoted  him- 
self to  the  making  of  verses,  he  would  have  been  nearly 
as  far  below  Tate  and  Blackmore  as  Tate  and  Black- 
more  are  below  Dryden.  ilis  only  chance  for  renown 
would  have  been  that  he  might  have  occupied  a  niche 
in  a  satire,  between  Flecknoe  and  Settle.  There  was, 
however,  another  kind  of  composition  in  which  his  tal- 
ents and  acquirements  qualified  him  to  succeed  ;  and  to 
that  he  judiciously  betook  himself. 

In  his  old  age  he  used  to  say  that  he  wrote  Love  in 
a  Wood  at  nineteen,  the  Gentleman  Dancing-Master  at 
twenty-one,  the  Plain  Dealer  at  twenty-five,  and  the 
Country  Wife  at  one  or  two  and  thirty.  We  are  in- 
credulous, we  own,  as  to  the  truth  of  this  story. 
Nothing  that  we  know  of  Wycherley  leads  us  to  think 
him  incapable  of  sacrificing  truth  to  vanity.  And  his 
memory  in  the  decline  of  his  life  played  him  such 
strange  tricks  that  we  might  question  the  r.orrectness  of 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  871 

nis  Assertion  without  throwing  any  imputation  on  his 
veracity.  It  is  certain  that  none  of  his  plays  was  acted 
till  1672,  when  he  gave  Love  in  a  Wood  to  the  public. 
It  seems  improbable  that  he  should  resolve,  on  so  im- 
portant an  occasion  as  that  of  a  first  appearance  before 
the  world,  to  run  his  chance  with  a  feeble  piece,  written 
before  his  talents  were  ripe,  before  his  style  was  formed, 
before  he  had  looked  abroad  into  the  world  ;  and  this 
when  he  had  actually  in  his  desk  two  highly  finished 
plays,  the  fruit  of  his  matured  powers.  When  we  look 
minutely  at  the  pieces  themselves,  we  find  in  every  part 
of  them  reason  to  suspect  the  accuracy  of  Wycherley's 
statement.  In  the  first  scene  of  Love  in  a  Wood,  to 
go  no  further,  we  find  many  passages  which  he  could 
not  have  written  when  he  was  nineteen.  There  is  an 
allusion  to  gentlemen's  periwigs,  which  first  came  into 
fashion  in  1663  ;  an  allusion  to  guineas,  which  were 
first  struck  in  1663  ;  an  allusion  to  the  vests  which 
Charles  ordered  to  be  worn  at  court  in  1666  ;  an  allu- 
sion to  the  fire  of  1666  ;  and  several  political  allusions 
which  must  be  assigned  to  times  later  than  the  year  of 
the  Restoration,  to  times  when  the  government  and  the 
city  were  opposed  to  each  other,  and  when  the  Presby- 
terian ministers  had  been  driven  from  the  parish 
churches  to  the  conventicles.  But  it  is  needless  to 
dwell  on  particular  expressions.  Xhe  whole  air  and 
spirit  of  the  piece  belong  to  a  period  subsequent  to  that 
mentioned  by  Wycherley.  As  to  the  Plain  Dealer, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  written  when  he  was  twenty- 
five,  it  contains  one  scene  unquestionably  written  after 
1675,  several  which  are  later  than  1668,  and  scarcely 
i  line  which  can  have  been  composed  before  the  end 
»f  1666. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  age  at  which  Wy- 


372  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

clierley  composed  his  plays,  it  is  certain  that  he  did 
not  bring  them  before  the  public  till  he  was  upwards 
of  thirty.  In  1672,  Love  in  a  Wood  was  acted  with 
more  success  than  it  deserved,  and  this  event  produced 
a  great  change  in  the  fortunes  of  the  author.  The 
Duchess  of  Cleveland  cast  her  eyes  upon  him,  and 
was  pleased  with  his  appearance.  This  abandoned 
woman,  not  content  with  her  complaisant  husband 
and  her  royal  keeper,  lavished  her  fondness  on  a 
crowd  of  paramours  of  all  ranks,  from  dukes  to  rope- 
dancers.  In  the  time  of  the  commonwealth  she  com- 
menced her  career  of  gallantry,  and  terminated  it  under 
Anne,  by  marrying,  when  a  great-grandmother,  that 
worthless  fop,  Beau  Fielding.  It  is  not  strange  that 
she  should  have  regarded  Wycherley  with  favour.  His 
figure  was  commanding,  his  countenance  slrikingly 
handsome,  his  look  and  deportment  full  of  grace  and 
dignity.  He  had,  as  Pope  said  long  after,  "  the  true 
nobleman  look,"  the  look  which  seems  to  indicate  supe- 
riority, and  a  not  unbecoming  consciousness  of  supe- 
riority. His  hair  indeed,  as  he  says  in  one  of  his 
poems,  was  prematurely  grey.  But  in  that  age  of 
periwigs  this  misfortune  was  of  little  importance.  The 
Duchess  admired  him,  and  proceeded  to  make  love  to 
him,  after  the  fashion  of  the  coarse-minded  and  shame- 
less circle  to  which  she  belonged.  In  the  Ring,  when 
the  crowd  of  beauties  and  fine  gentlemen  was  thickest, 
she  put  her  head  out  of  her  coach-window,  and  bawled 
to  him,  "  S  ir,  you  are  a  rascal;  you  are  a  villain;" 
and,  if  she  is  not  belied,  she  added  another  phrase  of 
abuse  which  we  will  not  quote,  but  of  which  we  may  say 
that  it  might  most  justly  have  been  applied  to  her  own 
enildren.  Wycherley  called  on  her  Grace  the  next  day, 
ind  with  great  humility  begged  to  know  in  what  way 


OF  THE  RESTOKATION.  373 

he  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  disoblige  her.  Thus 
began  an  intimacy  from  which  the  poet  probably  ex- 
pected wealth  and  honours.  Nor  were  such  expecta- 
tions unreasonable.  A  handsome  young  fellow  about 
the  court,  known  by  the  name  of  Jack  Churchill,  was, 
about  the  same  time,  so  lucky  as  to  become  the  object 
of  a  short-lived  fancy  of  the  Duchess.  She  had  pre- 
sented him  with  four  thousand  five  hundred  pounds, 
the  price,  in  all  probability,  of  some  title  or  pardon. 
The  prudent  youth  had  lent  the  money  on  high  interest 
and  on  landed  security  ;  and  this  judicious  investment 
was  the  beginning  of  the  most  splendid  private  fortune 
in  Europe.  Wycherley  was  not  so  lucky.  The  par- 
tiality with  which  the  great  lady  regarded  him  was 
indeed  the  talk  of  the  whole  town ;  and  sixty  years 
later  old  men  who  remembered  those  days  told  Voltaire 
that  she  often  stole  from  the  court  to  her  lover's  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple,  disguised  like  a  country  girl,  with 
a  straw-hat  on  her  head,  pattens  on  her  feet,  and  a 
basket  in  her  hand.  The  poet  was  indeed  too  happy 
and  proud  to  be  discreet.  lie  dedicated  to  the  Duchess 
the  play  which  had  led  to  their  acquaintance,  and  in 
the  dedication  expressed  himself  in  terms  which  could 
not  but  confirm  the  reports  which  had  gone  abroad. 
But  at  Whitehall  such  an  affair  was  regarded  in  no 
serious  light.  The  lady  was  not  afraid  to  bring  Wy- 
cherley to  court,  and  to  introduce  him  to  a  splendid 
society  with  which,  as  far  as  appears,  he  had  never 
before  mixed.  The  easy  king,  who  allowed  to  his  mis- 
tresses the  same  liberty  which  he  claimed  for  himself, 
was  pleased  with  the  conversation  and  manners  of  hia 
new  rival.  So  high  did  Wycherley  stand  in  the  royal 
Javour  that  once,  when  he  was  confined  by  a  fever  tu 
uis  lodgings  in  Bow  Street,  Charles,  who,  with  all  hia 


374  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

faults,  was  certainly  a  man  of  social  and  affable  dispo- 
sition, called  on  him,  sat  by  his  bed,  advised  him  to  try 
change  of  air,  and  gave  him  a  handsome  sum  of  money 
to  defray  the  expense  of  a  journey.  Buckingham,  then 
Master  of  the  Horse,  and  one  of  that  infamous  minis- 
try known  by  the  name  of  the  Cabal,  had  been  one  of 
the  Duchess's  innumerable  paramours.  He  at  first 
showed  some  symptoms  of  jealousy ;  but  he  soon,  after 
his  fashion,  veered  round  from  anger  to  fondness,  and 
gave  Wycherley  a  commission  in  his  own  regiment  and 
a  place  in  the  royal  household. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  Wycherley's  memory  not  to 
mention  here  the  only  good  action,  as  far  as  we  know, 
of  his  whole  lii's.  He  is  said  to  have  made  great  exer- 
tions to  obtain  the  patronage  of  Buckingham  for  the 
illustrious  author  of  Hudribas,  who  was  now  sinking 
into  an  obscure  grave,  neglected  by  a  nation  proud  of 
his  genius,  and  by  a  court  which  he  had  served  too 
well.  His  Grace  consented  to  see  poor  Butler  ;  and 
an  appointment  was  made.  But  unhappily  two  pretty 
women  passed  by ;  the  volatile  Duke  ran  after  them  ; 
the  opportunity  was  lost,  and  could  never  be  regained. 

The  second  Dutch  war,  the  most  disgraceful  war  in 
the  whole  history  of  England,  was  now  raging.  It 
was  not  in  that  age  considered  as  by  any  means  neces- 
sary that  a  naval  officer  should  receive  a  professional 
education.  '  Young  men  of  rank,  who  were  hardly  able 
to  keep  their  feet  in  a  breeze,  served  on  board  of  the 
King's  ships,  sometimes  with  commissions,  and  some- 
times as  volunteers.  Mulgrave,  Dorset,  Rochester, 
and  many  others,  left  the  playhouses  and  the  Mall  foi 
hammocks  and  salt  pork,  and,  ignorant  as  they  were  of 
the  rudiments  of  naval  service,  showed,  at  least,  on  the 
day  of  battle,  the  courage  which  is  seldom  wanting  ic 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  375 

an  English  gentleman.  All  good  judges  of  maritime 
affairs  complained  that,  under  this  system,  the -ships 
were  grossly  mismanaged,  and  that  the  tarpaulins  con- 
tracted the  vices,  without  acquiring  the  graces,  of  the 
court.  But  on  this  subject,  as  on  every  other  where 
the  interests  or  whims  of  favourites  were  concerned,  the 
government  of  Charles  was  deaf  to  all  remonstrances. 
Wycherley  did  not  choose  to  be  out  of  the  fashion. 
He  embarked,  was  present  at  a  battle,  and  celebrated 
it,  on  his  return,  in  a  copy  of  verses  too  bad  for  the 
bellman.1 

About  the  same  time,  he  brought  on  the  stage  his 
second  piece,  the  Gentleman  Dancing-Master.  The 
biographers  say  nothing,  as  far  as  we  remember,  about 
the  fate  of  this  play.  There  is,  however,  reason  to 
believe  that,  though  certainly  far  superior  to  Love  in  a 
Wood,  it  was  not  equally  successful.  It  was  first  tried 
at  the  west  end  of  the  town,  and,  as  the  poet  confessed, 
"  would  scarce  do  there."  It  was  then  performed  in 
Salisbuiy  Court,  but,  as  it  should  seem,  with  no  better 
event.  For,  in  the  prologue  to  the  Country  Wife, 

1  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  supposes  that  the  battle  at  which  Wycherley  was 
present  was  that  which  the  Duke  of  York  gained  over  Opdam,  in  1666. 
We  believe  that  it  was  one  of  the  battles  between  Rupert  and  De  Ruytei 
in  1673. 

The  point  is  of  no  importance;  and  there  cannot  be  said  to  be  much 
evidence  either  way.  We  offer,  however,  to  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt's  considera- 
tion three  arguments,  of  no  great  weight  certainly,  yet  such  as  ought,  we. 
tiiink,  to  prevail  in  the  absence  of  better.  First,  it  is  not  very  likely  that 
n  young  Templar,  quite  unknown  in  the  world,  —  and  Wycherley  was  such 
in  1665,  —  should  have  quitted  his  chambers  to  go  to  sea.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  would  be  in  the  regular  course  of  things,  that,  when  a  courtier  and 
an  equerry,  he  should  offer  his  services.  Secondly,  his  verses  appear  to 
aave  been  written  after  a  drawn  battle,  like  those  of  1673,  and  not  after  a 
complete  victory,  like  that  of  1665.  Thirdly  in  the  epilogue  to  the  Gen- 
tleman Dancing-Master,  written  in  1673,  he  says  that  "  all  gentlemen  must 
\iack  to  sea;"  an  expression  which  makes  it  probable  that  lie  did  not  him* 
«alf  mean  to  stay  behind. 


876  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

Wycherley  described  himself  as  "  the  late  so  buffled 
scribbler." 

In  1675,  the  Country  "Wife  was  performed  with 
orilliant  success,  which,  in  a  literary  point  of  view,  was 
not  wholly  unmerited.  For,  though  one  of  the  most 
profligate  and  heartless  of  human  compositions,  it  is  the 
elaborate  production  of  a  mind,  not  indeed  rich,  original, 
or  imaginative,  but  ingenious,  observant,  quick  to  seize, 
hints,  and  patient  of  the  toil  of  polishing. 

The  Plain  Dealer,  equally  immoral  and  equally 
well  written,  appeared  in  1677.  At  first  this  piece 
pleased  the  people  less  than  the  critics  ;  but  after  a 
time  its  unquestionable  merits  and  the  zealous  support 
of  Lord  Dorset,  whose  influence  in  literary  and  fashion- 
able society  was  unbounded,  established  it  in  the  public 
favour. 

The  fortune  of  Wycherley  was  now  in  the  zenith, 
and  began  to  decline.  A  long  life  was  still  before  him. 
But  it  was  destined  to  be  filled  with  nothing  but  shame 
and  wretchedness,  domestic  dissensions,  literary  failures, 
and  pecuniary  embarrassments. 

The  King,  who  was  looking  about  for  an  accom- 
plished man  to  conduct  the  education  of  his  natural  son, 
the  young  Duke  of  Richmond,  at  length  fixed  on 
Wycherley.  The  poet,  exulting  in  his  good  luck, 
went  down  to  amuse  himself  at  Tunbridge  Wells, 
looked  into  a  bookseller's  shop  on  the  Pantiles,  and,  to 
his  great  delight,  heard  a  handsome  woman  ask  for  the 
Plain  Dealer  which  had  just  been  published.  He  made 
acquaintance  with  the  lady,  who  proved  to  be  the 
Countess  of  Drogheda,  a  gay  young  widow,  with  an 
am  pie  jointure.  She  was  charmed  with  his  person  and 
nis  wit,  and,  after  a  short  flirtation,  agreed  to  become 
lus  wife.  Wycherley  seems  to  have  been  apprehensive 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  377 

that  this  connection  might  not  suit  well  with  the  King's 
plans  respecting  the  Duke  of  Richmond.  He  accord- 
ingly prevailed  on  the  lady  to  consent  to  a  private 
marriage.  All  came  out.  Charles  thought  the  con- 
duct of  Wycherley  both  disrespectful  and  disingenuous. 
Other  causes  probably  assisted  to  alienate  the  sovereign 
from  the  subject  who  had  lately  been  so  highly  favoured. 
Buckingham  was  now  in  opposition,  and  had  been 
committed  to  the  Tower ;  not,  as  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt 
supposes,  on  a  charge  of  treason,  but  by  an  order  of 
the  House  of  Lords  for  some  expressions  which  he  had 
used  in  debate.  Wycherley  wrote  some  bad  lines  in 
praise  of  his  imprisoned  patron,  which,  if  they  came  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  King,  would  certainly  have 
made  his  majesty  very  angry.  The  favour  of  the  court 
was  completely  withdrawn  from  the  poet.  An  amiable 
woman  with  a  large  fortune  might  indeed  have  been 
an  ample  compensation  for  the  loss.  But  Lady  Drog- 
heda  was  ill-tempered,  imperious,  and  extravagantly 
jealous.  She  had  herself  been  a  maid  of  honour  at 
Whitehall.  She  weh1  knew  in  what,  estimation  conju- 
jal  fidelity  was  held  among  the  fine  gentlemen  there, 
and  watched  her  town  husband  as  assiduously  as  Mr. 
Pinchwife  watched  his  country  wife.  The  unfortu- 
nate wit  was,  indeed,  allowed  to  meet  his  friends  at 
a  tavern  opposite  to  his  own  house.  But  on  such 
occasions  the  windows  were  always  open,  in  order  that 
her  Ladyship,  who  was  posted  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  might  be  satisfied  that  no  woman  was  of  the 
party. 

The  death  of  Lady  Drogheda  released  the  poet  from 
this  distress ;  but  a  series  of  disasters,  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, broke  down  his  health,  his  spirits,  and  his 
fortune.  His  wife  meant  to  leave  him  a  good  property. 


378  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

and  left  him  only  a  lawsuit.  His  father  could  not  oi 
would  not  assist  him.  Wycherley  was  at  length 
thrown  into  the  Fleet,  and  languished  there  during 
seven  years  utterly  forgotten,  as  it  should  seem,  by 
the  gay  and  lively  circle  of  which  he  had  been  a 
distinguished  ornament.  In  the  extremity  of  hia 
distress  he  implored  the  publisher  who  had  been  en- 
riched by  the  sale  of  his  works  to  lend  him  twenty 
pounds,  and  was  refused.  His  comedies,  however, 
still  kept  possession  of  the  stage,  and  drew  great 
audiences  which  troubled  themselves  little  about  the 
situation  of  the  author.  At  length  James  the  Second, 
who  had  now  succeeded  to  the  throne,  happened  to  go 
to  the  theatre  on  an  evening  when  the  Plain  Dealer 
was  acted.  He  was  pleased  by  the  performance,  and 
touched  by  the  fate  of  the  writer,  whom  he  probably 
remembered  as  one  of  the  gayest  and  handsomest  of 
his  brother's  courtiers.  The  King  determined  to  pay 
Wycherley's  debts,  and  to  settle  on  the  unfortimate 
poet  a  pension  of  two  hundred  pounds  a  year.  This 
munificence  on  the  part  of  a  prince  who  Avas  little  in 
the  habit  of  rewarding  literary  merit,  and  whose  whole 
soul  was  devoted  to  the  interests  of  his  church,  raises 
in  us  a  surmise  which  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  will,  we  fear, 
pronounce  very  uncharitable.  We  cannot  help  sus- 
pecting that  it  was  at  this  time  that  Wycherley  re- 
turned to  the  communion  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
That  he  did  return  to  the  communion  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  is  certain.  The  date  of  his  reconversion,  as 
far  as  we  know,  has  never  been  mentioned  by  any 
biographer.  We  believe  that,  if  we  place  it  at  this 
time,  we  do  no  injustice  to  the  character  either  oi 
Wycherley  or  James. 
Not  long  after,  old  Mr.  Wycherley  died ;  and  lu's  son 


OF  THE  RLSTORATIOX.  379 

now  past  the  middle  of  life,  came  to  the  family  estate. 
Still,  however,  he  was  not  at  his  ease.  His  embarrass- 
ments  were  great :  his  property  was  strictly  tied  iip ; 
and  he  was  on  very  bad  terms  with  the  heir-at-law. 
He  appears  to  have  led,  during  a  long  course  of  years, 
that  most  wretched  life,  the  life  of  a  vicious  old  boy 
about  town.  Expensive  tastes  with  little  money,  and 
licentious  appetites  with  declining  vigour,  were  the  just 
penance  for  his  early  irregularities.  A  severe  illness 
had  produced  a  singular  effect  on  his  intellect.  His 
memory  played  him  pranks  stranger  than  almost  any 
that  are  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  that  strange  faculty. 
It  seemed  to  be  at  once  preternaturally  strong,  and 
preternaturally  weak.  If  a  book  was  read  to  him  be- 
fore he  went  to  bed,  he  would  wake  the  next  morning 
with  his  mind  full  of  the  thoughts  and  expressions 
which  he  had  heard  over  night ;  and  he  would  write 
them  down,  without  in  the  least  suspecting  that  they 
were  not  his  own.  In  his  verses  the  same  ideas,  and 
even  the  same  words,  came  over  and  over  again  several 
times  in  a  short  composition.  His  fine  person  bore  the 
marks  of  age,  sickness,  and  sorrow ;  and  he  mourned 
for  his  departed  beauty  with  an  effeminate  regret.  He 
could  not  look  without  a  sigh  at  the  portrait  which  Lely 
had  painted  of  him  when  he  Avas  only  twenty-eight, 
and  often  murmured,  Quantum  mutatus  ab  illo.  He 
was  still  nervously  anxious  about  his  literary  reputa- 
tion, and,  not  content  with  the  fame  which  he  still 
possessed  as  a  dramatist,  was  determined  to  be  renowned 
»s  a  satirist  and  an  amatory  poet.  In  1704,  after 
rwenty-seven  years  of  silence,  he  again  appeared  as  an 
Author.  He  put  forth  a  large  folio  of  miscellaneous 
verses,  which,  we  believe,  has  never  been  reprinted. 
Some  of  these  pieces  had  probably  circulated  through 


880  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

the  town  in  manuscript.  For,  before  the  volume  ap- 
peared, the  critics  at  the  coffee-houses  very  confidently 
predicted  that  it  would  be  utterly  worthless,  and  were 
in  consequence  bitterly  reviled  by  the  poet  in  an  ill- 
written,  foolish,  and  egotistical  preface.  The  book 
amply  vindicated  the  most  unfavourable  prophecies  that 
had  been  hazarded.  The  style  and  versification  are 
beneath  criticism ;  the  morals  are  those  of  Rochester. 
For  Rochester,  indeed,  there  was  some  excuse.  When 
his  offences  against  decorum  were  committed,  he  waa 

O  ' 

a  very  young  man,  misled  by  a  prevailing  fashion. 
Wycherley  wras  sixty-four.  »He  had  long  outlived  the 
times  when  libertinism  was  regarded  as  essential  to  the 
character  of  a  wit  and  a  gentleman.  Most  of  the  rising 
poets,  Addison,  for  example,  John  Phillips,  and  Rowe, 
were  studious  of  decency.  We  can  hardly  conceive 
any  thing  more  miserable  than  the  figure  which  the 
ribald  old  man  makes  in  the  midst  of  so  many  sober 
and  well-conducted  youths. 

In  the  very  year  in  which  this  bulky  volume  of 
obscene  doggerel  was  published,  Wycherley  formed  an 
acquaintance  of  a  very  singular  kind.  A  little,  pale, 
crooked,  sickly,  bright-eyed  urchin,  just  turned  of 
sixteen,  had  written  some  copies  of  verses  in  which 
discerning  judges  could  detect  the  promise  of  future 
eminence.  There  was,  indeed,  as  yet  nothing  very 
striking  or  original  in  the  conceptions  of  the  young 
poet.  But  he  was  already  skilled  in  the  art  of  metrical 
composition.  His  diction  and  his  music  were  not  those 
of  the  great  old  masters  ;  but  that  which  his  ablest  con- 
temporaries were  labouring  to  do,  he  already  did  best. 
His  style  was  not  richly  poetical ;  but  it  was  always 
neat,  compact,  and  pointed.  His  verse  wanted  variety 
of  pause,  of  swell,  and  of  cadence,  but  nevei  grated 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  381 

harshly  on  the  ear,  or  disappointed  it  by  a  feeble  close. 
The  youth  was  already  free  of  the  company  of  wits, 
and  was  greatly  elated  at  being  introduced  to  the  au- 
thor of  the  Plain  Dealer  and  the  Country  Wife. 

It  is  curious  to  trace  the  history  of  the  intercourse 
which  took  place  between  Wycherley  and  Pope,  be- 
tween the  representative  of  the  age  that  was  going  out, 
and  the  representative  of  the  age  that  was  coming  in, 
between  the  friend  of  Rochester  and  Buckingham,  and 
the  friend  of  Lyttelton  and  Mansfield.  At  first  the 
boy  was  enchanted  by  the  kindness  and  condescension 
of  so  eminent  a  writer,  haunted  his  door,  and  followed 
him  about  like  a  spaniel  from  coffee-house  to  coffee- 
house. Letters  full  of  affection,  humility,  and  fulsome 
flattery  were  interchanged  between  the  friends.  But 
the  first  ardour  of  affection  could  not  last.  Pope, 
though  at  no  time  scrupulously  delicate  in  his  writings 
or  fastidious  as  to  the  morals  of  his  associates,  was 
shocked  by  the  indecency  of  a  rake  who,  at  seventy, 
was  still  the  representative  of  the  monstrous  profligacy 
of  the  Restoration.  As  the  youth  grew  older,  as  his 
mind  expanded  and  his  fame  rose,  he  appreciated  both 
himself  and  Wycherley  more  correctly.  He  felt  a  just 
contempt  for  the  old  gentleman's  verses,  and  was  at  no 
great  pains  to  conceal  his  opinion.  Wycherley,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  blinded  by  self-love  to  the  imper- 
fections of  what  he  called  his  poetry,  could  not  but  see 
that  there  was  an  immense  difference  between  his 
young  companion's  rhymes  and  his  own.  He  was 
divided  between  two  feelings.  He  wished  to  have  the 
assistance  of  so  skilful  a  hand  to  polish  his  lines  ;  and 
yet  he  shrank  from  the  humiliation  of  being  beholden 
Cor  literary  assistance  to  a  lad  who  might  have  been  his 
grandson.  Pope  was  willing  to  give  assistance,  but 


382  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

was  by  no  means  disposed  to  give  assistance  and  flat- 
tery too.  He  took  the  trouble  to  retouch  whole  reams 
of  feeble  stumbling  verses,  and  inserted  many  vigorous 
lines  which  the  least  skilful  reader  will  distinguish  in 
an  instant.  But  he  thought  that  by  these  services  he 
acquired  a  right  to  express  himself  in  terms  which 
would  not,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  become  one 
who  was  addressing  a  man  of  four  times  his  age.  In 
one  letter  he  tells  Wycherley  that  "  the  worst  pieces  are 
such  as,  to  render  them  very  good,  would  require  al- 
most, the  entire  new  writing  of  them."  In  another, 
he  gives  the  following  account  of  his  corrections  : 
"  Though  the  whole  be  as  short  again  as  at  first,  there 
is  not  one  thought  omitted  but  what  is  a  repetition  of 
something  in  your  first  volume,  or  in  this  very  paper ; 
and  the  versification  throughout  is,  I  believe,  such  as 
nobody  can  be  shocked  at.  The  repeated  permission 
you  give  me  of  dealing  freely  with  you,  will,  I  hope, 
excuse  what  I  have  done ;  for,  if  I  have  not  spared 
you  when  I  thought  severity  would  do  you  a  kindness, 
I  have  not  mangled  you  where  I  thought  there  was  no 
absolute  need  of  amputation."  Wycherley  continued 
to  return  thanks  for  all  this  hacking  and  hewing,  which 
was,  indeed,  of  inestimable  service  to  his  compositions. 
But  at  last  his  thanks  began  to  sound  very  like 
reproaches.  In  private,  he  is  said  to  have  described 
Pope  as  a  person  who  could  not  cut  out  a  suit,  but 
who  had  some  skill  in  turning  old  coats.  In  his  letters 
to  Pope,  while  he  acknowledged  that  the  versification 
of  the  poems  had  been  greatly  improved,  he  spoke  of 
the  whole  art  of  versification  with  scorn,  and  sneered 
at  those  who  preferred  sound  to  sense.  Pope  revenged 
himself  for  this  outbreak  of  spleen  by  return  of  post. 
He  had  in  his  hands  a  volume  of  Wycherley's  rhymes, 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  383 

and  lie  wrote  to  say  that  this  volume  was  so  full  of 
faults  that  he  could  not  correct  it  without  completely 
defacing  the  manuscript.  "  I  am,"  -he  said,  "  equally 
•afraid  of  sparing  you,  and  of  offending  you  by  too  im- 
pudent a  correction."  This  was  more  than  flesh  and 
blood  could  bear.  Wycherley  reclaimed  his  papers,  in 
a  letter  in  which  resentment  shows' itself  plainly  through 
the  thin  disguise  of  civility.  Pope,  glad  to  be  rid  of  a 
troublesome  and  inglorious  task,  sent  back  the  deposit, 
and,  by  way  of  a  parting  courtesy,  advised  the  old  man 
to  turn  his  poetry  into  prose,  and  assured  him  that  the 
public  would  like  thoughts  much  better  without  his 
versification.  Thus  ended  this  memorable  correspond- 
ence. 

Wycherley  liATed  some  years  after  the  termination  of 
the  strange  friendship  which  we  have  described.  The 
last  scene  of  his  life  was,  perhaps,  the  most  scandalous. 
Ten  days  before  his  death,  at  seventy-five,  he  married 
a  young  girl,  merely  in  order  to  injure  his  nephew,  an 
act  which  proves  that  neither  years,  nor  adversity,  nor 
what  he  called  his  philosophy,  nor  either  of  the  relig 
ions  which  he  had  at  different  times  professed,  had 
taught  him  the  rudiments  of  morality.  He  died  in 
December,  1715,  and  lies  in  the  vault  under  the  church 
of  St.  Paul  in  Convent-Garden. 

His  bride  soon  after  married  a  Captain  Shrimpton, 
who  thus  became  possessed  of  a  large  collection  of 
manuscripts.  These  were  sold  to  a  bookseller.  They 
were  so  full  of  erasures  arrd  interlineations  that  no 
printer  could  decipher  them.  It  was  necessary  to  call 
m  the  aid  of  a  professed  critic  ;  and  Theobald,  the 
editor  of  Shakspeare,  and  the  hero  of  the  first  Dunciad, 
was  employed  to  ascertain  the  true  reading.  In  this 
way  ft  volume  of  miscellanies  in  verse  and  prose  was 


384  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

got  up  for  the  market.  The  collection  derives  all  its 
value  from  the  traces  of  Pope's  hand,  which  are  every- 
where discernible. 

Of  the  moral  character  of  Wycherley  it  can  hardly 
be  necessary  for  us  to  say  more.  His  fame  as  a  writer 
rests  wholly  on  his  comedies,  and  chiefly  on  the  last 
two.  Even  as  a  comic  writer,  he  was  neither  of  the 
best  school,  nor  highest  in  his  school.  He  was  in  truth 
a  worse  Congreve.  His  chief  merit,  like  Congreve's 
lies  in  the  style  of  his  dialogue.  But  the  wit  which 
lights  up  the  Plain  Dealer  and  the  Country  Wife  is 
pale  and  flickering,  when  compared  with  the  gorgeous 
blaze  which  dazzles  us  almost  to  blindness  in  Love -for 
Love  and  the  Way  of  the  World.  Like  Congreve, 
and,  indeed,  even  more  than  Congreve,  Wycherley  is 
ready  to  sacrifice  dramatic  propriety  to  the  liveliness  of 
his  dialogue.  The  poet  speaks  out  of  the  mouths  of 
all  his  dunces  and  coxcombs,  and  makes  them  describe 
themselves  with  a  good  sense  and  acuteness  which  puts 
them  on  a  level  with  the  wits  and  heroes.  We  will 
give  two  instances,  the  first  which  occur  to  us,  from 
the  Country  Wife.  There  are  in  the  world  fools  who 
find  the  society  of  old  friends  insipid,  and  who  are  al- 
ways running  after  new  companions.  Such  a  character 
is  a  fair  subject  for  comedy.  But  nothing  can  be  more 
absurd  than  to  introduce  a  man  of  this  sort  saying  to 
his  comrade,  "  I  can  deny  you  nothing :  for  though  I 
have,  known  thee  a  great  while,  never  go  if  I  do  not 
love  thee  as  well  as  a  new  acquaintance."  That  town- 
wits,  again,  have  always  been  rather  a  heartless  class,  is 
true.  But  none  of  them,  we  will  answer  for  it,  ever 
said  to  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  was  making  love, 
"  We  wits  rail  and  make  love  often,  but  to  show 
our  parts :  as  we  have  no  affections,  so  we  have  na 
malice." 


OF   THE   KEST  ORATION. 

Wycherley's  plays  are  said  to  have  been  the  produce 
of  long  and  patient  labour.  The  epithet  of  "  slow " 
was  early  given  to  him  by  Rochester,  and  was  fre- 
quently repeated.  In  truth  his  rniiid,  unless  we  are 
greatly  mistaken,  was  naturally  a  very  meagre  soil,  and 
was  forced  only  by  great  labour  and  outlay  to  bear  fruit 
which,  after  all,  was  not  of  the  highest  flavor.  lie 
has  scarcely  more  claim  to  originality  than  Terence. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  there  is  hardly  anything 
of  the  least  value  in  his  plays  of  which  the  hint  is  not 
to  be  found  elsewhere.  The  best  scenes  in  the  Gen- 
tleman Dancing  Master  were  suggested  by  Calderon'a 
Maestro  de  Danzar,  not  by  any  means  one  of  the  hap- 
piest comedies  of  the  great  Castilian  poet.  The  Country 
Wife  is  borrowed  from  the  E'cole  des  Maris  and  the 
E'cole  des  Femmes.  The  groundwork  of  the  Plain 
Dealer  is  taken  from  the  Misanthrope  of  Moliere.  One 
whole  scene  is  almost  translated  from  the  Critique  de 
V  E'cole  des  Femmes.  Fidelia  is  Shakspeare's  Viola 
stolen,  and  marred  in  the  stealing ;  and  the  Widow 
Blackacre,  beyond  comparison  Wycherley's  best  comic 
character,  is  the  Countess  in  Racine's  Plaideurs,  talking 
the  jargon  of  English  instead  of  that  of  French  chi- 
cane. 

The  only  thing  original  about  Wycherley,  the  only 
thing  which  he  could  furnish  from  his  own  mind  in  in- 
exhaustible abundance,  was  profligacy.  It  is  curious 
to  observe  how  every  thing  that  he  touched,  however 
pure  and  noble,  took  in  an  instant  the  colour  of  his 
own  mind.  Compare  the  E'cole  des  Femmes  with  the 
Country  Wife.  Agnes  is  a  simple  and  amiablo  girl, 
whose  heart  is  indeed  full  of  love,  but  of  love  sanc- 
tioned by  honour,  morality,  and  religion.  Her  natural 
valents  are  great.  They  have  been  hidden,  and,  as  it 

VOL.  IV.  17 


886  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

might  appear,  destroyed  by  an  education  elaborately 
bad.  But  they  are  called  forth  into  full  energy  by  a 
virtuous  passion.  Her  lover,  while  he  adores  her 
beauty,  is  too  honest  a  man  to  abuse  the  confiding  ten- 
derness of  a  creature  so  charming  and  inexperienced. 
Wycherley  takes  this  plot  into  his  hands ;  and  forth- 
with this  sweet  and  graceful  courtship  becomes  a 
licentious  intrigue  of  the  lowest  and  least  sentimental 
kind,  between  an  impudent  London  rake  and  the  idiot 
wife  of  a  country  squire.  We  will  not  go  into  details. 
In  truth,  Wycherley's  indecency  is  protected  against 
the  critics  as  a  skunk  is  protected  against  the  hunters. 
It  is  safe,  because  it  is  too  filthy  to  handle,  and  too  noi- 
some even  to  approach. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  Plain  Dealer.  How  careful 
has  Shakspeare  been  in  Twelfth  Night  to  preserve  the 
dignity  and  delicacy  of  Viola  under  her  disguise  !  Even 
when  wearing  a  page's  doublet  and  hose,  she  is  never 
mixed  up  with  any  transaction  which  the  most  fastidi- 
ous mind  could  regard  as  leaving  a  stain  on  her.  She 
is  employed  by  the  Duke  on  an  embassy  of  love  to 
Olivia,  but  on  an  embassy  of  the  most  honourable  kind. 
Wycherley  borrows  Viola ;  and  Viola  forthwith  becomes 
a  pandar  of  the  basest  sort.  But  the  character  of 
Manly  is  the  best  illustration  of  our  meaning.  Moliere 
exhibited  in  his  misanthrope  a  pure  and  noble  mind, 
which  had  been  sorely  vexed  by  the  sight  of  perfidy 
and  malevolence,  disguised  under  the  forms  of  polite- 
ness. As  every  extreme  naturally  generates  its  con- 
trary, Alceste  adopts  a  standard  of  good  and  evil 
directly  opposed  to  that  of  the  society  which  surrounds 
him.  Courtesy  seems  to  him  a  vice  ;  and  those  stern 
virtues  which  are  neglected  by  the  fops  and  coquettes 
»f  Paris  become  too  exclusively  the  objects  of  his  ven« 


OF  THE  KESTORATION.  387 

eration.  He  is  often  to  blame  ;  lie  is  often  ridiculous  ; 
but  he  is  always  a  good  man  ;  and  the  feeling  which  he 
inspires  is  regret  that  a  person  so  estimable  should  be  so 
unamiable.  Wycherley  borrowed  Alceste,  and  turned 
him,  —  we  quote  the  words  of  so  lenient  a  critic  as  Mr. 
Leigh  Hunt, — into  "  a  ferocious  sensualist,  who  believed 
himself  as  great  a  rascal  as  he  thought  everybody  else." 
The  surliness  of  Moliere's  hero  is  copied  and  caricatured. 
But  the  most  nauseous  libertinism  and  the  most  dastard- 
ly fraud  aie  substituted  for  the  purity  and  integrity  of 
the  original.  And,  to  make  the  whole  complete, 
Wycherley  does  not  seem  to  have  been  aware  that  he 
was  not  drawing  the  portrait  of  an  eminently  honest 
man.  So  depraved  was  his  moral  taste  that,  while  he 
firmly  believed  that  he  was  producing  a  picture  of  vir- 
tue too  exalted  for  the  commerce  of  this  world,  he  was 
really  delineating  the  greatest  rascal  that  is  to  be  found, 
even  in  his  own  writings. 

We  pass  a  very  severe  censure  on  Wycherley,  when 
we  say  that  it  is  a  relief  to  turn  from  him  to  Congreve. 
Congreve's  writings,  indeed,  are  by  no  means  pure ;  nor 
was  he,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  judge,  a  warm-hearted 
or  high-minded  man.  Yet,  in  coming  to  him,  we  feel 
that  the  worst  is  over,  that  we  are  one  remove  further 
from  the  Restoration,  that  we  are  past  the  Nadir  of  na- 
tional taste  and  morality. 

WILLIAM  CONGREVE  was  born  in  1670,  at  Bardsey, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Leeds.  His  father,  a  younger 
eon  of  a  very  ancient  Staffordshire  family,  had  distin- 
guished himself  among  the  cavaliers  in  the  civil  war, 
was  set  down  after  the  Restoration  for  the  Order  of  the 
Royal  Oak,  and  subsequently  settled  in  Ireland,  under 
the  patronage  of  the  Earl  of  Burlington. 

Congreve  passed  his  childhood  and  youth  in  Ireland, 


888  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

He  was  sent  to  school  at  Kilkenny,  and  thence  Krent  1o 
the  University  of  Dublin.  His  learning  does  great 
honour  to  his  instructors.  From  his  writings  it  ap- 
pears, not  only  that  he  was  well  acquainted  with  Latin 
literature,  but  that  his  knowledge  of  the  Greek  poets  waa 
Buch  as  was  not,  in  his  time,  common  even  in  a  college. 
When  he  had  completed  his  academical  studies,  lie 
was  sent  to  London  to  study  the  law,  and  was  entered 
of  the  Middle  Temple.  He  troubled  himself,  however, 
very  little  about  pleading  or  conveyancing,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  literature  and  society.  Two  kinds  of 
ambition  early  took  possession  of  his  mind,  and  often 
pulled  it  in  opposite  directions.  He  was  conscious  of 
great  fertility  of  thought  and  power  of  ingenious  com- 
bination. His  lively  conversation,  his  polished  manners, 
and  his  liighly  respectable  connections,  had  obtained 
for  him  ready  access  to  the  best  company.  He  longed 
to  be  a  great  writer.  He  longed  to  be  a  man  of  fashion. 
Either  object  was  within  his  reach.  But  could  he 
secure  both  ?  Was  there  not  something  vulgar  in 
letters,  something  inconsistent  with  the  easy  apathetic 
graces  of  a  man  of  the  mode  ?  Was  it  aristocratical  to 
be  confounded  with  creatures  who  lived  in  the  cocklofts 
of  Grub  Street,  to  bargain  with  publishers,  to  hurry 
printers'  devils  and  be  hurried  by  them,  to  squabble 
with  managers,  to  be  applauded  or  hissed  by  pit,  boxes, 
raid  galleries  ?  Could  he  forego  the  renown  of  being 
the  first  wit  of  his  age  ?  Could  he  attain  that  renown 
witnout  sullying  what  he  valued  quite  as  much,  his 
character  for  gentility  ?  The  history  of  his  life  k  the 
aistory  of  a  conflict  between  these  two  impulses.  In 
sis  youth  the  desire  of  literary  fame  had  the  mastery  , 
but  soon  the  meaner  ambition  overpowered  the  higher, 
<uid  obtained  supreme  dominion  over  his  mind. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  389 

His  first  work,  a  novel  of  no  great  value,  lie  pub- 
lished under  the  assumed  name  of  Cleoplul.  His 
second  was  the  Old  Bachelor,  acted  in  1693,  a  play 
interior  indeed  to  his  other  comedies,  but,  in  its  own 
line,  inferior  to  them  alone.  The  plot  is  equally  desti- 
tute of  interest  and  of  probability.  The  characters 
are  either  not  distinguishable,  or  are  distinguished  only 
by  peculiarities  of  the  most  glaring  kind.  But  the 
dialogue  is  resplendent  with  wit  and  eloquence,  which 
indeed  are  so  abundant  that  the  fool  comes  in  for  an 
ample  share,  and  yet  preserves  a  certain  colloquial  air, 
a  certain  indescribable  ease,  of  which  Wycherley  had 
given  no  example,  and  which  Sheridan  in  vain  at- 
tempted to  imitate.  The  author,  divided  between  pride 
and  shame,  pride  at  having  written  a  good  play,  and 
shame  at  having  done  an  ungentlemanlike  thing,  pre- 
tended that  he  had  merely  scribbled  a  few  scenes  for 
his  own  amusement,  and  affected  to  yield  unwillingly 
to  the  importunities  of  those  who  pressed  him  to  try  his 
fortune  on  the  stage.  The  Old  Bachelor  was  seen  in 
manuscript  by  Dryden,  one  of  whose  best  qualities  was 
a  hearty  and  generous  admiration  for  the  talents  ot 
others.  He  declared  that  he  had  never  read  such  a 
first  play,  and  lent  his  services  to  bring  it  into  a  form 
$t  for  representation.  Nothing  was  wanted  to  the 
success  of  the  piece.  It  was  so  cast  as  to  bring  into 
play  all  the  comic  talent,  and  to  exhibit  on  the  boards 
in  one  view  all  the  beauty,  which  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
then  the  only  theatre  in  London,  could  assemble.  T-ia 
iesult  was  a  complete  triumph  ,  and  the  author  was 
gratified  with  rewards  more  substantial  than  the  ap- 
olauses  of  the  pit.  Montagu,  then  a  lord  of  the  treas- 
ury, immediately  gave  him  a  place,  and,  in  -  a  short 
time,  added  the  reversion  of  another  place  of  much 


890  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

greater  value,  which,  however,  did  not  become  vacant 
till  many  years  had  elapsed. 

In  1694,  Congreve  brought  out  the  Double  Dealer, 
a  comedy  in  which  all  the  powers  which  had  produced 
the  Old  Bachelor  showed  themselves,  matured  by  time 
and  improved  by  exercise.  But  the  audience  was 
shocked  by  the  characters  of  Maskwell  and  Lady 
Touchwood.  And,  indeed,  there  is  something  strangely 
revolting  in  the  way  in  which  a  group  that  seems  to  be- 
long to  the  house  of  Laius  or  of  Pelops  is  introduced 
into  the  midst  of  the  Brisks,  Froths,  Carlesses,  and 
PJyants.  The  play  was  unfavourably  received.  Yet, 
if  the  praise  of  distinguished  men  could  compensate  an 
author  for  the  disapprobation  of  the  multitude,  Con- 
greve had  no  reason  to  repine.  Dryden,  in  one  of  the 
most  ingenious,  magnificent,  and  pathetic  pieces  that  he 
ever  wrote,  extolled  the  author  of  the  Double  Dealer 
in  terms  which  now  appear  extravagantly  hyperbolical. 
Till  Congreve  came  forth,  —  so  ran  this  exquisite  flat- 
tery, —  the  superiority  of  the  poets  who  preceded  the 
civil  wars  was  acknowledged. 

"  Theirs  was  the  giant  race  before  the  flood." 

Since  the  return  of  the  Royal  house,  much  art  and 
ability  had  bet?n  exerted,  but  the  old  masters  had  been 
Etill  unrivalled,, 

"  Our  builders  were  with  want  of  genius  curst, 
The  second  temple  was  not  like  the  first." 

At  length  a  writer  had  arisen  wrho,  just  emerging  from 
boyhood,  had  surpassed  the  authors  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Burning  Pestle  and  of  the  Silent  Woman,  and  whc 
had  only  one  rival  left  to  contend  with. 

"  Heaven  that  but  once  was  prodigal  before, 
To  Shakspeare  gave  as  much,  she  could  not  give  him  more.** 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  391 

Some  lines  near  the  end  of  the  poem  are  singularly 
grave  and  touching,  and  sank  deep  into  the  heart  of 
Congreve. 

'  Already  am  I  worn  with  cares  and  age, 
And  just  abandoning  the  ungrateful  stage; 
But  you,  whom  every  muse  and  grace  adorn 
Whom  I  foresee  to  better  fortune  born, 
Be  kind  to  my  remains;  and,  oh,  defend 
Against  your  judgment  your  departed  friend. 
Let  not  the  insulting  foe  my  fame  pursue, 
•  But  guard  those  laurels  which  descend  to  you." 

The  crowd,  as  usual,  gradually  came-  over  to  the 
opinion  of  the  men  of  note ;  and  the  Double  Dealer 
was  before  long  quite  as  much  admired,  though  perhaps 
never  so  much  liked,  as  the  Old  Bachelor. 

In  1695  appeared  Love  for  Love,  superior  both  in 
wit  and  in  scenic  effect  to  either  of  the  preceding  plays. 
It  was  performed  at  a  new  theatre  which  Betterton 
and  some  other  actors,  disgusted  by  the  treatment  which 
they  had  received  in  Drury-Lane,  had  just  opened  in 
a  tennis-court  near  Lincoln's  Inn.  Scarcely  any  com- 
edy within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  man  had  been 
equally  successful.  The  actors  were  so  elated  that  they 
gave  Congreve  a  share  in  their  theatre ;  and  he  prom- 
ised in  return  to  furnish  them  with  a  play  every  year, 
if  his  health  would  permit.  Two  years  passed,  how- 
ever, before  he  produced  the  "  Mourning  Bride,"  a 
play  which,  paltry  as  it  is  when  compared,  we  do  not 
«ay,  with  Lear  or  Macbeth,  but  with  the  best  dramas 
of  Massinger  and  Ford,  stands  very  high  among  the 
tragedies  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  written.  To  find 
any  thing  so  good  we  must  go  twelve  years  back  to 
Venice  Preserved,  or  six  years  forward  to  the  Fair 
Penitent.  The  noble  passage  which  Johnson,  both  in 
writing  and  in  conversation,  extolled  above  any  other 
in  the  English  drama,  has  suffered  greatly  in  the  public 


592  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

estimation  from  the  extravagance  of  liis  praise.  Had 
he  contented  himself  with  saying  that  it  was  finer  than 
any  tiling  in  the  tragedies  of  Dryden,  Otway,  Lee, 
Rowe,  Southern,  Hughes,  and  Addison,  than  any  thing, 
in  short,  that  had  been  written  for  the  stage  since  the 
days  of  Charles  the  First,  he  would  not  have  been  in 
the  wrong. 

The  success  of  the  Mourning  Bride  was  even  greater 
than  that  of  Love  for  Love.  Congreve  was  now 
allowed  to  be  the  first  tragic  as  well  as  the  first  comic 
dramatist  of  his  time  ;  and  all  this  at  twenty-seven. 
We  believe  that  no  English  writer  except  Lord  Byron 
has,  at  so  early  an  age,  stood  so  high  in  the  estimation 
of  his  contemporaries. 

At  this  time  took  place  an  event  which  deserves,  in 
our  opinion,  a  very  different  sort  of  notice  from  that 
which  has  been  bestowed  on  it  by  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt. 
The  nation  had  now  nearly  recovered  from  the  demor- 
alising effect  of  the  Puritan  austerity.  The  gloomy 
follies  of  the  reign  of  the  Saints  were  but  faintly 
remembered.  The  evils  produced  by  profaneness  and 
debauchery  were  recent  and  glaring.  The  Court, 
since  the  Revolution,  had  ceased  to  patronise  licen- 
tiousness. Maiy  was  strictly  pious ;  and  the  vices  of 
the  cold,  stern,  and  silent  William,  were  not  obtruded 
on  the  public  eye.  Discountenanced  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  falling  in  the  favour  of  the  people,  the 
profligacy  of  the  Restoration  still  maintained  its  ground 
in  some  parts  of  society.  Its  strongholds  were  the 
places  where  men  of  wit  and  fashion  congregated,  and 
above  all,  the  theatres.  At  this  conjuncture  arose  a 
great  reformer  whom,  widely  as  we  differ  from  him 
in  many  important  points,  we  can  never  mention 
without  respect. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  393 

J.EIIEMY  COLLIER  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Chinch  of 
England,  bred  at  Cambridge.  His  talents  and  attain- 
ments were  such  as  might  have  been  expected  to  raise 
him  to  the  highest  honours  of  his  profession.  He  had 
an  extensive  knowledge  of  books ;  yet  he  had  mingled 
much  with  polite  society,  and  is  said  not  to  have  wanted 
either  grace  or  vivacity  in  conversation.  There  were 
few  branches  of  literature  to  which  he  had  not  paid 
some  attention.  But  ecclesiastical  antiquity  was  his 
favourite  study.  In  religious  opinions  he  belonged 
to  that  section  of  the  Church  of  England  which  lies 
furtherest  from  Geneva  and  nearest  to  Rome.  Hia 
notions  touching  Episcopal  government,  holy  orders, 
the  efficacy  of  the  sacraments,  the  authority  of  the 
Fathers,  the  guilt  of  schism,  the  importance  of  vest- 
ments, ceremonies,  and  solemn  days,  differed  littlo 
from  those  which  are  now  held  by  Dr.  Pusey  and 
Mr.  Newman.  Towards  the  close  of  his  life  indeed, 
Collier  took  some  steps  which  brought  him  still  nearer 
to  Popery,  mixed  water  with  the  wine  in  the  Eucha- 
rist, made  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  confirmation,  em- 

'  O 

ployed  oil  in  the  visitation  of  the  sick,  and  offered  up 
prayers  for  the  dead.  His  politics  were  of  a  piece 
with  his  divinity.  He  was  a  Tory  of  the  highest  sort, 
such  as  in  the  cant  of  his  age  was  called  a  Tantivy. 
Not  even  the  persecution  of  the  bishops  and  the  spolia- 
tion of  the  universities  could  shake  his  steady  loyalty 
While  the  Convention  was  sitting,  he  wrote  with 
vehemence  in  defence  of  the  fugitive  king,  and  was  in 
consequence  arrested.  But  his  dauntless  spirit  was 
not  to  be  so  tamed.  He  refused  to  take  the  oaths, 
renounced  all  his  preferments,  and,  in  a  succession 
of  pamphlets  written  with  much  violence  and  with 
lome  ability,  attempted  to  excite  the  nation  agains* 


S9-1  COMIC   DRAMATISTS 

its  new  masters.  In  1692  he  was  again  arrested  on  sus- 
picion of  having  been  concerned  in  a  treasonable  plot. 
So  unbending  were  his  principles  that  his  friends  could 
hardly  persuade  him  to  let  them  bail  him  ;  and  he  after- 
wards expressed  his  remorse  for  having  been  induced 
thus  to  acknowledge,  by  implication,  the  authority  of  an 
usurping  government.  He  was  soon  in  trouble  again. 
Sir  John  Friend  and  Sir  William  Parkins  -were  tried 
and  convicted  of  high  treason  for  planning  the  murder 
of  King  William.  Collier  administered  spiritual  con- 
solation to  them,  attended  them  to  Tyburn,  and,  just 
before  they  were  turned  off,  laid  his  hands  on  their 
heads,  and  by  the  authority  which  he  derived  from 
Christ,  solemnly  absolved  them.  This  scene  gave 
indescribable  scandal.  Tories  joined  with  Whigs  in 
blaming  the  conduct  of  the  daring  priest.  Some  acts, 
it  was  said,  which  fall  under  the  definition  of  treason 
are  such  that  a  good  man  may,  in  troubled  times,  be 
led  into  them  even  by  his  virtues.  It  may  be  necessary 
for  the  protection  of  society  to  punish  such  a  man.  But 
even  in  punishing  him  we  consider  him  as  legally  rather 
than  morally  guilty,  and  hope  that  his  honest  error, 
though  it  cannot  be  pardoned  here,  will  not  be  counted 
to  him  for  sin  hereafter.  But  such  was  not  the  case  of 
Collier's  penitents.  They  were  concenied  in  a  plot  for 
waylaying  and  butchering,  in  an  hour  of  security,  one 
who,  whether  he  were  or  were  not  their  king,  was  at 
all  events  their  fellow-creature.  Whether  the  Jacobite 
theory  about  the  rights  of  governments  and  the  duties 
of  subjects  were  or  were  not  well  founded,  assassination 
must  always  be  considered  as  a  great  crime.  It  is  con- 
demned even  by  the  maxims  of  worldly  n  on  our  and 
morality.  Much  more  must  it  be  an  object  of  alhor- 
rence  to  the  pure  Spouse  of  Christ.  The  Church 


OF   THE  RESTORATION.  395 

rannot  surely,  without  the  saddest  and  most  mournful 
forebodings,  see  one  of  her  children  who  has  been  guilty 
of  this  great  wickedness  pass  into  eternity  without  any 
sign  of  repentance.  That  these  traitors  had  given  any 
sign  of  repentance  was  not  alleged.  It  might  be  that 
they  had  privately  declared  their  contrition  ;  and,  if 
BO,  the  minister  of  religion  might  be  justified  in  pri- 
vately assuring  them  of  the  Divine  forgiveness.  But  a 
public  remission  ought  to  have  been  preceded  by  a  pub- 
lic atonement.  The  regret  of  these  men,  if  expressed 
at  all,  had  been  expressed  in  secret.  The  hands  of 
Collier  had  been  laid  on  them  in  the  presence  of  thou- 
sands. The  inference  which  his  enemies  drew  from  his 
conduct  was  that  he  did  not  consider  the  conspiracy 
against  the  life  of  William  as  sinful.  But  this  inference 
tie  very  vehemently,  and,  we  doubt  not,  very  sincerely 
denied. 

The  storm  raged.  The  bishops  put  forth  a  soleivm 
censure  of  the  absolution.  The  Attorney-General 
brought  the  matter  before  the  Court  of  King's  Bench. 
Collier  had  now  made  up  his  mind  not  to  give  bail 
for  his  appearance  before  any  court  which  derived  its 
authority  from  the  usurper.  He  accordingly  absconded 
and  was  outlawed.  He  survived  these  events  about 
thirty  years.  The  prosecution  was  not  pressed ;  and  L. 
was  soon  suffered  to  resume  his  literary  pursuits  ir 
quiet.  At  a  later  period,  many  attempts  were  made  t«; 
shake  his  perverse  integrity  by  offers  of  wealth  am. 
dignity,  but  in  vain.  When  he  died,  towards  the  end 
of  the  reign  of  George  the  First,  he  was  still  under  the 
ban  of  the  law. 

We  shall  not  be  suspected  of  regarding  either  the 
politics  or  the  theology  of  Collier  with  partiality  ;  but 
Ve  believe  him  to  have  been  as  honest  and  courageous 


896  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

a  man  as  ever  lived.  We  will  go  further,  and  say  that, 
though  passionate  and  often  wrongheaded,  he  was  a 
singularly  fair  controversialist,  candid,  generous,  too 
high-spirited  to  take  mean  advantages  even  in  the  most 
exciting  disputes,  and  pure  from  all  taint  of  personal 
malevolence.  It  must  also  be  admitted  that  his  opin- 
ions on  ecclesiastical  and  political  affairs,  though  in 
themselves  absurd  and  pernicious,  eminently  qualified 
him  to  be  the  reformer  of  our  lighter  literature.  The 
libertinism  of  the  press  and  of  the  stage  was,  as  we  have 
said,  the  effect  of  a  reaction  against  the  Puritan  strict- 
ness. Profligacy  was,  like  the  oak  leaf  on  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  May,  the  badge  of  a  cavalier  and  a  high 
churchman.  Decency  was  associated  with  conventicles 
and  calves'  heads.  Grave  prelates  were  too  much  dis- 
posed to  wink  at  the  excesses  of  a  body  of  zealous  and 
able  allies  who  covered  Roundheads  and  Presbyterians 
with  ridicule.  Tf  a  Whig  raised  his  voice  against  the 
impiety  and  licentiousness  of  the  fashionable  writers, 
his  mouth  was  instantly  stopped  by  the  retort :  You  are 
one  of  those  who  groan  at  a  little  quotation  from  Scrip- 
ture, and  raise  estates  out  of  the  plunder  of  the  Church, 
who  shudder  at  a  double  entendre,  and  chop  off  the 
heads  of  kings.  A  Baxter,  a  Burnet,  even  a  Tillotson, 
would  have  done  little  to  purify  our  literature.  But 
when  a  man  fanatical  in  the  cause  of  Episcopacy  and 
actually  under  outlawry  for  his  attachment  to  hered- 
itary right,  came  forward  as  the  champion  of  decency, 
the  battle  was  already  half  won. 

In  1698,  Collier  published  his  Short  View  of  thi 
Frofnneness  and  Immorality  of  the  English  Stage,  a 
book  which  threw  the  whole  literary  world  into  com- 
motion, but  which  is  now  much  less  read  than  it  de« 
lerves.  The  faults  of  the  work,  indeed,  are  neither  fe\? 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  397 

nor  small.  The  dissertations  on  the  Greek  and  Latin 
drama  do  not  at  all  help  the  argument,  and,  whatever 
may  have  been  thought  of  them  by  the  generation 
which  fancied  that  Christ  Church  had  refuted  Bentley, 
are  such  as,  in  the  present  day,  a  scholar  of  very  hum- 
ble pretensions  may  venture  to  pronounce  boyish,  or 
rathei:  babyish.  The  censures  are  not  sufficiently  dis- 
criminating. The  authors  whom  Collier  accused  had 
been  guilty  of  such  gross  sins  against  decency,  that  he 
was  certain  to  weaken  instead  of  strengthening  his 
case,  by  introducing  into  his  charge  against  them  any 
matter  about  which  there  could  be  the  smallest  dispute. 
He  was,  however,  so  injudicious  as  to  place  among  the 
outrageous  offences  which  he  justly  arraigned,  some 
things  which  are  really  quite  innocent,  and  some  slight 
instances  of  levity  which,  though  not  perhaps  strictly 
correct,  could  easily  be  paralleled  from  the  works  of 
writers  who  had  rendered  great  services  to  morality 
and  religion.  Thus  he  blames  Congreve,  the  number 
and  gravity  of  whose  real  transgressions  made  it  quite 
unnecessary  to  tax  him  with  any  that  were  not  real, 
for  using  the  words  "martyr"  and  "inspiration"  in  a 
light  sense  ;  as  if  an  archbishop  might  not  say  that  a 
speech  was  inspired  by  claret,  or  that  an  alderman  was 
a  martyr  to  the  gout.  Sometimes,  again,  Collier  does 
not  sufficiently  distinguish  between  the  dramatist  and 
the  pei-sons  of  the  drama.  Thus  he  blames  Vanbrugh 
for  putting  into  Lord  Foppington's  mouth  some  con- 
temptuous expressions  respecting  the  Church  service  ; 
though  it  is  obvious  that  Vanbrugh  could  not  better 
express  reverence  than  by  making  Lord  Foppington 
express  contempt.  There  is  also  throughout  the  Short 
V^ievv  too  strong  a  display  of  professional  feeling.  Col- 
ier  is  not  content  with  claiming  for  his  order  an 


398  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

immunity  from  indiscriminate  scurrility ;  lie  will  not 
allow  that,  in  any  case,  any  word  or  act  of  a  divine 
can  be  a  proper  subject  for  ridicule.  Nor  does  lie  con- 
fine this  benefit  of  clergy  to  the  ministers  of  the  estab- 
lished Church.  He  extends  the  privilege  to  Catholic 
priests,  and,  what  in  him  is  more  surprising,  to  Dis- 
senting preachers.  This,  howrever,  is  a  mere  trifle. 
Imaums,  Brahmins,  priests  of  Jupiter,  priests  of  Baal, 
are  all  to  be  held  sacred.  Diyden  is  blamed  for  mak- 
ing the  Mufti  in  Don  Sebastian  talk  nonsense.  Lee  is 
called  to  a  severe  account  for  his  incivility  to  Tiresias. 
But  the  most  curious  passage  is  that  in  which  Collier 
resents  some  uncivil  reflections  thrown  by  Cassandra, 
in  Dryden's  Cleomenes,  on  the  calf  Apis  and  his  hiero- 
phants.  The  words  "  grass-eating,  foddered  god," 
words  which  really  are  much  in  the  style  of  several 
passages  in  the  Old  Testament,  give  as  much  offence  to 
this  Christian  divine  as  they  could  have  given  to  the 
priests  of  Memphis. 

But,  when  all  deductions  have  been  made,  great 
merit  must  be  allowed  to  tliis  work.  There  is  hardly 
any  book  of  that  time  from  which  it  would  be  possible 
to  select  specimens  of  writing  so  excellent  and  so  va- 
rious. To  compare  Collier  with  Pascal  would  indeed 
be  absurd.  Yet  we  hardly  know  where,  except  in  the 
Provincial  Letters,  we  can  find  mirth  so  harmoni- 
ously and  becomingly  blended  with  solemnity  as  in 
the  Short  View.  In  truth,  all  the  modes  of  ridi- 
cule, from  broad  fun  to  polished  and  antithetical  sar- 
casm, were  at  Collier's  command.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  was  complete  master  of  the  rhetoric  of  honest 
indignation.  We  scarcely  know  any  volume  which 
contains  so  many  bursts  of  that  peculiar  eloquence 
Khich  comes  from  the  heart  and  soes  to  the  heart. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  399 

Indeed  the  spirit  of  the  book  is  truly  heroic.  In 
order  to  fairly  appreciate  it,  we  must  remember  the 
situation  in  which  the  writer  stood.  He  was  under 
the  frown  of  power.  His  name  was  already  a  mark  for 
the  invectives  of  one  half  of  the  writers  of  the  age, 
when,  in  the  cause  of  good  taste,  good  sense,  and  good 
morals,  he  gave  battle  to  the  other  half.  Strong  as  hia 
political  prejudices  were,  he  seems  on  this  occasion  to 
have  entirely  laid  them  aside.  He  has  forgotten  that 
he  is  a  Jacobite,  and  remembers  only  that  he  is  a  citi- 
zen and  a  Christian.  Some  of  his  sharpest  censures 
are  directed  against  poetry  which  had  been  hailed  with 
delight  by  the  Tory  party,  and  had  inflicted  a  deep 
wound  on  the  Whigs.  It  is  inspiriting  to  see  how  gal- 
lantly the  solitary  outlaw  advances  to  attack  enemies, 
formidable  separately,  and,  it  might  have  been  thought, 
irresistible  when  combined,  distributes  his  swashing 
blows  right  and  left  among  Wycherley,  Congreve,  and 
Vanbrugh,  treads  the  wretched  D'Urfey  down  in  the 
dirt  beneath  his  feet,  and  strikes  with  all  his  strength 
full  at  the  towering  crest  of  Dryden. 

The  effect  produced  by  the  Short  View  was  im- 
mense. The  nation  was  on  the  side  of  Collier.  But 
it  could  not  be  doubted  that,  in  the  great  host  which 
he  had  defied,  some  champion  would  be  found  to  lift 
the  gauntlet.  The  general  belief  was  that  Dryden 
would  take  the  field ;  and  all  the  wits  anticipated  a 
sharp  contest  between  two  well-paired  combatants. 
The  great  poet  had  been  singled  out  in  the  most 
marked  manner.  It  was  well  known  that  he  was 
deeply  hurt,  that  much  smaller  provocation  had  for- 
merly roused  him  to  violent  resentment,  and  that  thero 
was  no  literary  weapon,  offensive  or  defensive,  of  which 
he  was  not  master.  But  his  conscience  smote  him  ;  he 


400  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

stood  abashed,  like  the  fallen  archangel  at  the  rebuk« 
of  Zephon, — 

"  And  felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  saw 
Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely;  saw  and  pined 
His  loss." 

At  a  later  period  he  mentioned  the  Short  View  in  tiie 
preface  to  his  Fables.  He  complained,  with  some  as- 
perity, of  the  harshness  with  which  he  had  been 
treated,  and  urged  some  matters  in  mitigation.  But, 
on  the  whole,  he  frankly  acknowledged  that  he  had 
been  justly  reproved.  "  If,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Collier  be 
my  enemy,  let  him  triumph.  If  he  be  my  friend,  as  1 
have  given  him  110  personal  occasion  to  be  otherwise, 
he  will  be  glad  of  my  repentance." 

It  would  have  been  wise  in  Congreve  to  follow  his 
master's  example.  He  was  precisely  in  that  situation 
in  which  it  is  madness  to  attempt  a  vindication ;  for 
his  guilt  was  so  clear,  that  no  address  or  eloquence 
could  obtain  an  acquittal.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
were  in  his  case  many  extenuating  circumstances  which, 
if  he  had  acknowledged  his  error  and  promised  amend- 
ment, would  have  procured  his  pardon.  The  most 
rigid  censor  cculd  not  but  make  great  allowances  for 
the  faults  into  which  so  young  a  man  had  been  seduced 
by  evil  example,  by  the  luxuriance  of  a  vigorous  fancy, 
and  by  the  inebriating  effect  of  popular  applause.  The 
esteem,  as  well  as  the  admiration,  of  the  public  was  still 
within  his  reach.  He  might  easily  have  effaced  all 
memory  of  his  transgressions,  and  have  shared  with 
Addison  the  glory  of  showing  that  the  most  brilliant 
wit  may  be  the  ally  of  virtue.  But,  in  any  case,  pru- 
dence should  have  restrained  him  from  encountering 
Collier.  The  nonjuror  was  a  man  thoroughly  fitted 
by  nature,  education,  and  habit,  for  polemical  dispute, 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  401 

Cong  eve's  mind,  though  a  mind  of  no  common  fertil- 
ity and  vigour,  was  of  a  different  class.  No  man  under- 
stood so  well  the  art  of  polishing  epigi'ams  and  repartees 
into  the  clearest  effulgence,  and  setting  them  neatly 
in  easy  and  familiar  dialogue.  In  this  sort  of  jewellery 
he  attained  to  a  mastery  unprecedented  and  inimi- 
table. But  he  was  altogether  rude  in  the  art  of  contro- 
versy ;  and  he  had  a  cause  to  defend  which  scarcely 
any  art  could  have  rendered  victorious. 

The  event  was  such  as  might  have  been  foreseen. 
Congreve's  answer  was  a  complete  failure.  He  wag 
angry,  obscure,  and  dull.  Even  the  Green  Room  and 
Will's  Coffee-House  were  compelled  to  acknowledge 
that  in  wit,  as  well  as  in  argument,  the  parson  had  a 
decided  advantage  over  the  poet.  Not  only  was  Con- 
greve  unable  to  make  any  show  of  a  case  where  he  was 
in  the  wrong ;  but  he  succeeded  in  putting  himself 
completely  in  the  wrong  where  he  was  in  the  right. 
Collier  had  taxed  him  with  profaneness  for  calling  a 
clergyman  Mr.  Prig,  and  for  introdiicing  a  coachman 
named  Jehu,  in  allusion  to  the  King  of  Israel,  who 
was  known  at  a  distance  by  his  furious  driving.  Had 
there  been  nothing  worse  in  the  Old  Bachelor  and 
Double  Dealer,  Congreve  might  pass  for  as  pure  a 
writer  as  Cowper  himself,  who,  in  poems  revised  by  so 
austere  a  censor  as  John  Newton,  calls  a  fox-hunting 
squire  Nimrod,  and  gives  to  a  chaplain  the  disrespectful 
name  of  Smug.  Congreve  might  with  good  effect 
hare  appealed  to  the  public  whether  it  might  not  be 
fairly  presumed  that,  when  such  frivolous  charges  v,*e.  e 
made,  there  were  no  very  serious  charges  to  make. 
Instead  of  doing  this,  he  pretended  that  he  meant  no 
Allusion  to  the  Bible  by  the  name  of  Jehu,  and  no  re- 
flection by  the  name  of  Prig.  Strange,  that  a  man  of 


402  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

Buch  parts  should,  in  order  to  defend  himself  against 
imputations  which  nobody  could  regard  as  important, 
tell  untruths  which  it  was  certain  that  nobody  would 
believe ! 

One  of  the  pleas  which  Congreve  set  up  for  himself 
and  his  brethren  was  that,  though  they  might  be  guilty 
of  a  little  levity  here  and  there,  they  were  careful  to 
inculcate  a  moral,  packed  close  into  two  dr  three  lines, 
at  the  end  of  every  play.  Had  the  fact  been  as  ho 
stated  it,  the  defence  would  be  worth  very  little.  For 
no  man  acquainted  with  human  nature  could  think  that 
a  sententious  couplet  would  undo  all  the  mischief  that 
five  profligate  acts  had  done.  But  it  would  have  been 
wise  in  Congreve  to  have  looked  again  at  his  own  com- 
fdics  before  he  used  this  argument.  Collier  did  so ; 
and  found  that  the  moral  of  the. Old  Bachelor,  the 
grave  apophthegm  which  is  to  be  a  set-off  against  all 
the  libertinism  of  the  piece  is  contained  in  the  follow- 
ing triplet : 

"  What  rugged  ways  attend  the  noon  of  life! 
Our  sun  declines,  and  with  what  anxious  s'.rife, 
What  pain,  we  tug  that  galling  load  —  a  wife." 

"  Love  for  Love,"  says  Collier,  "  may  have  a  some- 
what better  farewell,  but  it  would  do  a  man  little  ser- 
vice should  he  remember  it  to  his  dying  day  :  " 

"  The  miracle  to-day  is,  that  we  find 
A  lover  true,  not  that  a  woman  's  kind." 

Collier's  reply  was  severe  and  triumphant.  One  of 
his  repartees  we  will  quote,  not  as  a  favourable  speci- 
men of  his  manner,  but  because  it  was  called  forth  by 
Congreve's  characteristic  affectation.  The  poet  spoke 
of  the  Old  Bachelor  as  a  trifle  to  which  he  attached  no 
value,  and  which  had  become  public  by  a  sort  of  acci- 
•lent.  "  I  wrote  it,"  he  said,  "  to  amuse  myself  in  a 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  403 

slow  recovery  from  a  fit  of  sickness."  "  What  liis  dis- 
ease was,"  replied  Collier,  "  I  am  not  to  inquire  :  but  it 
must  be  a  very  ill  one  to  be  worse  than  the  remedy." 

All  that  Congreve  gained  by  coming  forward  on  this 
occasion  was  that  he  completely  deprived  himself  of 
the  excuse  which  he  might  with  justice  ha^ve  pleaded 
for  his  early  offences.  "  Why,"  asked  Collier,  "  should 
the  man  laugh  at  the  mischief  of  the  boy,  and  make  the 
disorders  of  his  nonage  his  own,  by  an  after  approba- 
tion?" 

Congreve  was  not  Collier's  only  opponent.  Van- 
brugh,  Dennis,  and  Settle  took  the  field.  And,  from  a 
passage  in  a  contemporary  satire,  we  are  inclined  to 
think  that  among  the  answers  to  the  Short  View  was 
one  written,  or  supposed  to  be  written,  by  Wycherley. 
The  victory  remained  with  Colh'er.  A  great  and  rapid 
reform  in  almost  all  the  departments  of  our  lighter  lit- 
erature was  the  effect  of  his  labours.  A  new  race  of 
wits  and  poets  arose,  who  generally  treated  with  rever- 
ence the  great  ties  which  bind  society  together,  and 
whose  veiy  indecencies  were  decent  when  compared 
with  those  of  the  school  which  flourished  during  the 
last  forty  years  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

This  controversy  probably  prevented  Congreve  from 
fulfilling  the  engagements  into  which  be  had  entered 
with  the  actors.  It  was  not  till  1700  that  he  produced 
the  Way  of  the  World,  the  most  deeply  meditated  and 
the  most  brilliantly  written  of  all  his  works.  It  wants, 
perhaps,  the  constant  movement,  the  effervescence  of 
animal  spirits,  which  we  find  in  Love  for  Love.  But 
the  hysterical  rants  of  Lady  Wishfort,  the  meeting  of 
Wit  would  and  his  brother,  the  country  knight's  court- 
ship and  his  subsequent  revel,  and,  above  all,  the  chase 
surrender  of  Millamant,  superior  to  any  thing 


401  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

that  is  to  be  found  in  the  whole  range  of  English  coifl- 
edy  from  the  civil  war  downwards.  It  is  quite  inex- 
plicable to  us  that  this  play  should  have  failed  on  the 
stage.  Yet  so  it  was ;  and  the  author,  already  sore 
with  the  wounds  which  Collier  had  inflicted,  was  galled 
past  endurance  by  this  new  stroke.  He  resolved  never 
again  to  expose  himself  to  the  rudeness  of  a  tasteless 
audience,  and  took  leave  of  the  theatre  forever. 

He  lived  twenty-eight  years  longer,  without  adding 
to  the  high  literary  reputation  which  he  had  attained. 
He  read  much  while  he  retained  his  eyesight,  and  now 
and  then  wrote  %  short  essay,  or  put  an  idle  tale  into 
verse ;  but  he  appears  never  to  have  planned  any  con- 
siderable work.  The  miscellaneous  pieces  which  he 
published  in  1710  are  of  little  value,  and  have  long 
been  forgotten. 

The  stock  of  fame  which  he  had  acquired  by  his 
comedies  was  sufficient,  assisted  by  the  graces  of  his 
manner  and  conversation,  to  secure  for  him  a  high 
place  in  the  estimation  of  the  world.  During  the  win- 
ter, he  lived  among  the  most  distinguished  and  agree- 
able people  in  London.  His  summers  were  passed  at 
the  splendid  country-seats  of  ministers  and  peers.  Lit- 
erary envy  and  political  faction,  which  in  that  age 
respected  nothing  else,  respected  his  repose.  He  pro- 
fessed to  be  one  of  the  party  of  which  his  patron  Mon- 
tagu,, now  Lord  Halifax,  was  the  head.  But  he  had 
3ivil  words  and  small  good  offices  for  men  of  every 
shade  of  opinion.  And  men  of  every  shade  of  opinion 
gpoke  well  of  him  in  return. 

His  means  were  for  a  long  time  scanty.  The  place 
which  he  had  in  possession  barely  enabled  him  to  live 
with  comfort.  And,  when  the  Tories  came  into 
power,  some  thought  that  be  would  lose  even  this  mod- 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  405 

crate  provision.  But  Harly,  who  was  by  no  means 
disposed  to  adopt  tlie  exterminating  policy  of  the  Oc- 
tober club,  and  who,  with  all  his  faults  of  understand- 
ing and  temper,  had  a  sincere  kindness  for  men  of 
genius,  reassured  the  anxious  poet  by  quoting  very 
gracefully  and  happily  the  lines  of  Virgil, 

"  Non  obtusa  adeo  gestamus  pectora  Pceni, 
Nee  tarn  aversus  equos  Tyria  Sol  jungit  ab  urbe." 

The  indulgence  with  which  Congreve  was  treated  by 
the  Tories  was  not  purchased  by  any  concession  on  his 
part  which  could  justly  offend  the  Whigs.  It  was  his 
rare  good  fortune  to  share  the  triumph  of  his  friends 
without  having  shared  their  proscription.  When  the 
House  of  Hanover  came  to  the  throne,  he  partook 
largely  of  the  prosperity  of  those  with  whom  he  was 
connected.  The  reversion  to  which  he  had  been  nom- 
inated twenty  years  before  fell  in.  He  was  made  sec- 
retary to  the  island  of  Jamaica  ;  and  his  whole  income 
amounted  to  twelve  hundred  a  year,  a  fortune  which, 
for  a  single  man,  was  in  that  age  not  only  easy  but 
splendid.  He  continued,  however,  to  practise  the  fru- 
gality which  he  had  learned  when  he  could  scarce 
spare,  as  Swift  tells  us,  a  shilling  to  pay  the  chairmen 
who  carried  him  to  Lord  Halifax's.  Though  he  had 
nobody  to  save  for,  he  laid  up  at  least  as  much  as  he 
spent. 

The  infirmities  of  age  came  early  upon  him.  Hia 
habits  had  been  intemperate  ;  he  suffered  much  from 
gout ;  and,  when  confined  to  his  chamber,  he  had  no 
longer  the  solace  of  literature.  Blindness,  the  most 
vruel  misfortune  that  can  befall  the  lonely  student, 
made  his  books  useless  to  him.  He  was  thrown  on 
society  for  all  his  amusement ;  and  in  society  his  good 
breeding  and  vivacity  made  him  always  welcome. 


406  COMIC   DRAMATISTS 

By  the  rising  men  of  letters  he  was  considered  not 
as  a  rival,  but  as  a  classic.  He  had  left  their  arena  ; 
he  never  measured  his  strength  with  them  ;  and  he  wag 
always  loud  in  applause  of  their  exertions.  They  could, 
therefore,  entertain  no  jealousy  of  him,  and  thought  no 
more  of  detracting  from  his  fame  than  of  carping  at 
the  great  men  who  had  been  lying  a  hundred  years  in 
Poets'  Corner.  Even  the  inmates  of  Grub  Street,  even 
the  heroes  of  the  Dimciad,  were  for  once  just  to  living 
merit.  There  can  be  no  stronger  illustration  of  the  es- 
timation in  which  Congreve  was  held  than  the  fact 
that  the  English  Iliad,  a  work  which  appeared  with 
more  splendid  auspices  than  any  other  in  our  language, 
was  dedicated  to  him.  There  was  not  a  duke  in  the 
kingdom  who  would  not  have  been  proud  of  such  a 
compliment.  Dr.  Johnson  expresses  great  admiration 
for  the  independence  of  spirit  which  Pope  showed  on 
this  occasion.  "  He  passed  over  peers  and  statesmen 
to  inscribe  his  Iliad  to  Congreve,  with  a  magnanimity 
of  which  the  praise  had  been  complete,  had  his  friend's 
virtue  been  equal  to  his  wit.  Why  he  was  chosen  for 
so  great  an  honour,  it  is  not  now  possible  to  know."  It 
is  certainly  impossible  to  know ;  yet  we  think  it  is  pos- 
sible to  guess.  The  translation  of  the  Iliad  had  been 
zealously  befriended  by  men  of  all  political  opinions. 
The  poet,  who,  at  an  early  age,  should  be  raised  to 
affluence  by  the  emulous  liberality  of  Whigs  and 
Tories,  could  not  with  propriety  inscribe  to  a  chief  of 
either  party  a  work  which  had  been  munificently  pat- 
ronised by  both.  It  was  necessary  to  find  some  person 
who  was  at  once  eminent  and  neutral.  It  was  there- 
fore necessary  to  pass  over  peers  and  statesmen.  Con- 
greve had  a  high  name  in  letters.  He  had  a  high 
name  in  aristocratic  circles.  He  lived  on  terms  of  civ* 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  407 

ility  with  men  of  all  parties.  By  a  courtesy  paid  to 
him,  neither  the  ministers  nor  the  leaders  of  the  op- 
position could  be  ofl!ende\l. 

The  singular  affectatioi  which  had  from  i>**»  first 
been  characteristic  of  Congreve  grew  stronger  and 
stronger  as  he  advanced  in  life.  At  last  it  became 
disagreeable  to  him  to  hear  his  own  comedies  praised. 
Voltaire,  whose  soul  was  burned  up  by  the  raging  de- 
sire for  literary  renown,  was  half  puzzled  and  half  dis- 
gusted by  what  he  saw,  during  his  visit  to  England,  of 
this  extraordinary  whim.  Congreve  disclaimed  the 
character  of  a  poet,  declared  that  his  plays  were  trifles 
produced  in  an  idle  hour,  and  begged  that  Voltaire 
would  consider  him  merely  as  a  gentleman.  "  If  you 
had  been  merely  a  gentleman,"  said  Voltaire,  "I 
should  not  have  come  to  see  you." 

Congreve  was  not  a  man  of  warm  affections.  Do- 
mestic ties  he  had  none ;  and  in  the  temporary  con- 
nections which  he  formed  with  a  succession  of  beauties 
from  the  green-room  his  heart  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  interested.  Of  all  his  attachments  that  to 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  lasted  the  longest  and  was  the  most 
celebrated.  This  charming  actress,  who  was,  during 
many  years,  the  idol  of  all  London,  whose  face  caused 
the  fatal  broil  in  which  Mountfort  fell,  and  for  which 
Lord  Mohun  was  tried  by  the  Peers,  and  to  whom  the 
Earl  of  Scarsdale  was  said  to  have  made  honourable, 
addresses,  had  conducted  herself,  in  very  trying  cir- 
cumstances, with  extraordinary  disci-etion.  Congreve 
at  length  became  her  confidential  friend.  They  con- 
stantly rode  out  together  and  dined  together.  Some 
people  said  that  she  was  his  mistress,  and  others  that 
she  would  soon  be  his  wife.  He  was  at  last  drawn 
away  from  her  by  the  influence  of  a  wealtliier  and 


408  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

haughtier  beauty.  Henrietta,  daughter  of  the  great 
Maiiborough,  and  Countess  of  Godolphin,  had,  on  her 
father's  death,  succeeded  to  his  dukedom,  and  to  the 
greater  part  of  his  immense  property.  Her  husband 
was  an  insignificant  man,  of  whom  Lord  Chesterfield 
said  that  he  came  to  the  House  of  Peers  only  to  sleep, 
and  that  he  might  as  well  sleep  on  the  right  as  on  the 
left  of  the  woolsack.  Between  the  Duchess  and  Con- 
greve  sprang  up  a  most  eccentric  friendship.  He  had 
a  fleat  every  day  at  her  table,  and  assisted  in  the 
direction  of  her  concerts.  That  malignant  old  bel- 
danie,  the  Dowager  Duchess  Sarah,  who  had  quar- 
relled with  her  daughter  as  she  had  quarrelled  with 
everybody  else,  affected  to  suspect  that  there  was 
something  wrong.  But  the  world  in  general  appears 
to  have  thought  that  a  great  lady  might,  without  any 
imputation  on  her  character,  pay  marked  attention  to 
a  man  of  eminent  genius  who  was  near  sixty  years 
old,  who  was  still  older  in  appearance  and  in  consti- 
tution, who  was  confined  to  his  chair  by  gout,  and 
who  was  unable  to  read  from  blindness. 

In  the  summer  of  1728,  Congreve  was  ordered  to 
try  the  Bath  waters.  Daring  his  excursion  he  was 
overturned  in  his  chariot,  and  received  some  severe 
internal  injury  from  which  he  never  recovered.  He 
came  back  to  London  in  a  dangerous  state,  complained 
constantly  of  a  pain  in  his  side,  and  continued  to  sink, 
till  in  the  following  January  he  expired. 

He  left  ten  thousand  pounds,  saved  out  of  the  emol- 
uments of  his  lucrative  places.  Johnson  says  that 
this  money  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  Congreve  family, 
which  was  then  in  great  distress.  Doctor  Young  and 
Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  two  gentlemen  who  seldom  agree  with 
each  other,  but  with  whom,  on  this  occasion,  we  are 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  40  d 

happy  to  agree,  think  that  it  ought  to  have  gone  to 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle.  Congreve  bequeathed  two  hundred 
pounds  to  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and  an  equal  sum  to  a 
certain  Mrs.  Jellat ;  but  the  bulk  of  his  accumulations 
went  to  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  in  whose  im- 
mense weath  such  a  legacy  was  as  a  drop  in  the 
bucket.  It  might  have  raised  the  fallen  fortunes  of  a 
Staffordshire  squire  ;  it  might  have  enabled  a  retired 
actress  to  enjoy  every  comfort,  and,  in  her  sense,  every 
luxury:  but  it  was  hardly  sufficient  to  defray  the 
Duchess's  establishment  for  three  months. 

The  great  lady  buried  her  friend  with  a  pomp  sel 
dom  seen  at  the  funerals  of  poets.  The  corpse  lay  in 
state  under  the  ancient  roof  of  the  Jerusalem  Cham- 
ber, and  was  interred  in  Westminster  Abbey.  The 
pall  was  borne  by  the  Duke  of  Bridge  water,  Lord  Cob- 
ham,  the  Earl  of  Wilmington,  who  had  been  speaker, 
and  was  afterwards  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  and 
other  men  of  high  consideration.  Her  Grace  laid  out 
her  friend's  bequest  in  a  superb  diamond  necklace, 
which  she  wore  in  honour  of  him,  and,  if  report  is  to 
be  believed,  showed  her  regard  in  ways  much  more 
extraordinary.  It  is  said  that  a  statue  of  him  in 
ivory,  which  moved  by  clockwork,  was  placed  daily 
at  her  table,  that  she  had  a  wax  doll  made  in  imi- 
tation of  him,  and  that  the  feet  of  the  doll  were  regu- 
larly blistered  and  anointed  by  the  doctors,  as  poor 
Congreve's  feet  had  been  when  he  suffered  from  the 
gout.  A  monument  was  erected  to  the  poet  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  with  an  inscription  written  by  the 
Duchess :  and  Lord  Cobham  honoured  him  with  a 
cenotaph,  which  seems  to  us  though  that  is  a  bold 
word,  the  ugliest  and  most  absurd  of  the  buildings  at 
Stowe. 

YOU  IV  18 


ilO  COMIC  DRAMATISTS 

We  have  said  that  Wycherley  was  a  worse  Con- 
greve. There  was,  indeed,  a  remarkable  analogy  be- 
tween the  writings  and  lives  of  these  two  men.  Both 
were  gentlemen  liberally  educated.  Both  led  town 
lives,  and  knew  human  nature  only  as  it  appears 
between  Hyde  Park  and  the  Tower.  Both  were  men 
of  wit.  Neither  had  much  imagination.  Both  at  an 
early  age  produced  lively  and  profligate  comedies. 
Both  retired  from  the  field  while  still  in  early  man- 
hood, and  owed  to  their  youthful  achievements  in 
literature  whatever  consideration  they  enjoyed  in  later 
life.  Both,  after  they  had  ceased  to  write  for  the 
stage,  published  volumes  of  miscellanies  which  did 
little  credit  either  to  their  talents  or  to  their  morals. 
Both,  during  their  declining  years,  hung  loose  upon 
society ;  and  both  in  their  last  moments,  made  eccen- 
tric and  unjustifiable  dispositions  of  their  estates. 

But  in  every  point  Congreve  maintained  his  supe- 
riority to  Wycherley.  Wycherley  had  wit ;  but  the 
wit  of  Congreve  far  outshines  that  of  every  comic 
writer,  except  Sheridan,  who  has  arisen  within  the  last 
t"vvo  centuries.  Congreve  had  not,  in  a  large  measure, 
the  poetical  faculty  ;  but  compared  with  Wycherley  he 
might  be  called  a  great  poet.  Wycherley  had  some 
knowledge  of  books  ;  but  Congreve  was  a  man  of  real 
learning.  Congreve 's  offences  against  decorum,  though 
highly  culpable,  were  not  so  gross  as  those  of  Wy- 
cherley ;  nor  did  Congreve,  like  Wycherley,  exhibit  to 
the  world  the  deplorable  spectacle  of  a  licentious  dotage. 
Congreve  died  in  the  enjoyment  of  high  considera- 
tion; Wycherley  forgotten  or  despised.  Congreve'a 
will  was  absurd  and  capricious  ;  but  Wycherley's  last 
actions  appear  to  have  been  prompted  by  obdurate 
malignity. 


OF  THE  RESTORATION.  411 

Here,  at  least  for  the  present,  we  must  stop.  Van- 
nrun;h  and  Fnrquhar  are  not  men  to  be  hastily  dis- 
missed, and  AVC  have  not  left  ourselves  space  to  do 
them  justice, 


LORD  HOLLAND.1 

(Edinburgh  Review,  July,  1841.) 

MANY  reasons  make  it  impossible  for  us  to  lay  before 
our  readers,  at  the  present  moment,  a  complete  view 
of  the  character  and  public  career  of  the  late  Lord 
Holland.  But  we  feel  that  we  have  already  deferred 
too  long  the  duty  of  paying  some  tribute  to  his  mem- 
ory. We  feel  that  it  is  more  becoming  to  bring  without 
further  delay  an  offering,  though  intrinsically  of  little 
value,  than  to  leave  his  tomb  longer  without  some  token 
of  our  reverence  and  love. 

We  shall  say  very  little  of  the  book  which  lies  on 
our  table.  And  yet  it  is  a  book  which,  even  if  it  had 
been  the  work  of  a  less  distinguished  man,  or  had  ap- 
peared under  circumstances  less  interesting,  would  have 
well  repaid  an  attentive  perusal.  It  is  valuable,  both 
as  a  record  of  principles  and  as  a  model  of  composition. 
We  find  in  it  all  the  great  maxims  which,  during  more 
than  forty  years,  guided  Lord  Holland's  public  conduct, 
and  the  chief  reasons  on  which  those  maxims  rest,  con- 
densed into  the  smallest  possible  space,  and  set  forth 
with  admirable  perspicuity,  dignity,  and  precision.  To 
his  opinions  on  Foreign  Policy  we  for  the  most  part 
cordially  assent ;  but,  now  and  then  we  are  inclined  to 

The  Opinions  of  Lord  Holland,  as  recorded  in  the  Journals  of  tht 
House  of  Lordt,  from  1797  to  1841.  Collected  and  edited  by  D.  C  MOT 
LAW,  of  Lincoln's-Ina,  Barrister-at-La\v.  8vo.  London:  1841. 


LORD  HOLLAND.  413 

think  them  imprudently  generous.  We  could  not  have 
signed  the  protest  against  the  detention  of  Napoleon. 
The  protest  respecting  the  course  which  England  pur- 
sued at  the  Congress  of  Verona,  though  it  contains 
much  that  is  excellent,  contains  also  positions  which, 
we  are  inclined  to  think,  Lord  Holland  would,  at  a 
later  period,  have  admitted  to  be  unsound.  But  to  ail 
his  doctrines  on  constitutional  questions,  we  give  cur 
hearty  approbation  ;  and  we  firmly  believe  that  no 
British  government  has  ever  deviated  from  that  line  of 

O 

internal  policy  which  he  has  traced,  without  detriment 
to  the  public. 

We  will  give,  as  a  specimen  of  this  little  volume,  a 
single  passage,  in  which  a  chief  article  of  the  political 
creed  of  the  Whigs  is  stated  and  explained,  with  singu- 
lar clearness,  force,  and  brevity.  Our  readers  -will  re- 
member that,  in  1825,  the  Catholic  Association  raised 
the  cry  of  emancipation  with  most  formidable  effect. 
The  Tories  acted  after  their  kind.  Instead  of  removing 
the  grievance  they  tried  to  put  down  the  agitation,  and 
brought  in  a  la\v,  apparently  sharp  and  stringent,  but 
in  truth  utterly  impotent,  for  restraining  the  right  of 
petition.  Lord  Holland's  Protest  on  that  occasion  is 
excellent. 

"  We  are,"  says  he,  "  well  aware  that  the  privileges  of  tl«e  peo- 
ple, the  rights  of  free  discussion,  and  the  spirit  and  letter  of  our 
popular  institutions,  must  render,  —  and  they  are  intended  to 
render,  —  the  continuance  of  an  extensive  grievance,  and  of  the 
di^.uisiaction  consequent  thereupon,  dangerous  to  the  tranquillity 
o^'  the  country,  and  ultimately  subversive  of  the  authority  of  the 
elate.  Experience  and  theory  alike  forbid  us  to  deny  that  effect 
of  a  free  constitution ;  a  sense  of  justice  and  a.  love  of  liberty 
tqually  deter  us  from  lamenting  it.  But  we  have  always  been 
iaught  to  look  for  the  remedy  of  such  disorders  in  the  redress  of 
the  grievances  which  justify  them,  and  in  the  removal  of  the  dis- 
satisfaction from  which  thev  flow  —  not  in  restraints  on  ancient 


414  LORD'HOLLAJH). 

privileges,  not  in  inroads  on  tLc  right  of  public  discussion,  nor  in 
violations  of  the  principles  of  a  free  government.  If,  therefore, 
the  legal  method  of  seeking  redress,  which  has  been  resorted  to  by 
persons  labouring  under  grievous  disabilities,  be  fraught  with  im- 
mediate or  remote  danger  to  the  state,  we  draw  from  that  ciru::n- 
staace  a  conclusion  long  since  foretold  by  great  authority  —  nair.sly, 
that  the  British  constitution,  and  large  exclusions,  cannot  subsist 
together ;  that  the  constitution  must  destroy  them,  or  they  will 
destroy  the  constitution." 

It  was  not,  however,  of  this  little  book,  valuable  and 
interesting  as  it  is,  but  of  the  author,  that  we  meant  to 
speak ;  and  we  will  try  to  do  so  with  calmness  and  im- 
partiality. 

In  order  to  fully  appreciate  the  character  of  Lord 
Holland,  it  is  necessary  to  go  far  back  into  the  history 
of  his  family  ;  for  he  had  inherited  something  more  than 
a  coronet  and  an  estate.  To  the  House  of  which  he 
was  the  head  belongs  one  distinction  which  we  believe 
to  be  without  a  parallel  in  our  annals.  During  more 
than  a  century,  there  has  never  been  a  time  at  which 
a  Fox  has  not  stood  in  a  prominent  station  among 
public  men.  Scarcely  had  the  chequered  career  of 
the  first  Lord  Holland  closed,  when  his  son,  Charles, 
rose  to  the  head  of  the  Opposition,  and  to  the  first 
rank  among  English  debaters.  And  before  Charles  was 
borne  to  Westminster  Abbey  a  third  Fox  had  already 
become  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  politicians  in  the 
kingdom. 

It  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  by  the  strong  family 
likeness  which,  in  spite  of  diversities  arising  from  edu- 
cation and  position,  appeal's  in  these  three  distinguished 
persons.  In  their  faces  and  figures  there  Avas  a  re- 
semblance, such  as  is  common  enough  in  novels,  where 
one  picture  is  good  for  ten  generations,  but  such  as  in 
teal  lif  e  is  seldom  fouud.  The  ample  persons,  the  massy 


LORD  HOLLAND.  415 

and  thoughtful  forehead,  the  large  eyebrows,  the  full 
cheek  and  lip,  the  expression,  so  singularly  compounded 
of  sense,  humour,  courage,  openness,  a  strong  will 
and  a  sweet  temper,  were  common  to  all.  But  the 
features  of  the  founder  of  the  House,  as  the  pencil  of 
Reynolds  and  the  chisel  of  Nollekens  have  handed 
them  down  to  us,  were  disagreeably  harsh  and  exao-aer- 

**  r?o 

ated.  In  his  descendants,  the  aspect  was  preserved, 
but  it  was  softened  till  it  became,  in  the  late  lord,  the 
most  gracious  and  interesting  countenance  that  was 
ever  lighted  up  by  the  mingled  lustre  of  intelligence  and 
benevolence. 

As  it  -was  with  the  faces  of  the  men  of  this  noble 
family,  so  was  it  also  with  their  minds.  Nature  had 
done  much  for  them  all.  She  had  moulded  them  all 
of  that  clay  of  which  she  is  most  sparing.  To  all  she 
had  given  strong  reason  and  sharp  wit,  a  quick  relish 
for  every  physical  and  intellectual  enjoyment,  constitu 
tional  intrepidity,  and  that  frankness  by  which  consti- 
tutional intrepidty  is  generally  accompanied,  spirits 
•which  nothing  could  depress,  tempers  easy,  generous, 
and  placable,  and  that  genial  courtesy  which  has  its 
seat  in  the  heart,  and  of  which  artificial  politeness  ia 
only  a  faint  and  cold  imitation.  Such  a  disposition  is 
trie  richest  inheritance  that  ever  -was  entailed  on  any 
family. 

But  training  and  situation  greatly  modified  the.  fine 
qualities  which  nature  lavished  with  such  profusion  on 
three  generations  of  the  house  of  Fox.  The  first  Lord 
Holland  was  a  needy  political  adventurer.  He  entered 
public  life  at  a  time  when  the  standard  of  integrity 
among  statesmen  was  low.  He  started  as  the  adherent 
of  a  minister  who  had  indeed  many  titles  to  respect, 
who  possessed  eminent  talents  both  for  administration 


416  LORD  HOLLAND. 

and  for  debate,  who  understood  the  public  interest  well, 
and  who  meant  fairly  by  the  country,  but  who  had 
seen  so  much  perfidy  and  meanness  that  he  had  become 
sceptical  as  to  the  existence  of  probity.  Weary  of  the 
cant  pf  patriotism,  Walpole  had  learned  to  talk  ;i  cant 
of  a  different  land.  Disgusted  by  that  sort  of  hypocrisy 
which  is  at  least  a  homage  to  virtue,  he  was  too  much 
in  the  habit  of  practising  the  less  respectable  hypocrisy 
which  ostentatiously  displays,  and  sometimes  even  sim- 
ulates vice.  To  Walpole  Fox  attached  himself,  politi- 
cally and  personally,  with  the  ardour  which  belonged 
to  his  temperament.  And  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  in 
the  school  of  Walpole  he  contracted  faults  which  de- 
stroyed the  value  of  his  many  great  endowments.  He 
raised  himself,  indeed,  to  the  first  consideration  in  the 
House  of  Commons  ;  he  became  a  consummate  master 
of  the  art  of  debate  ;  he  attained  honours  and  immense 
wealth  ;  but  the  public  esteem  and  confidence  were 
withheld  from  him.  His  private  friends,  indeed,  justly 
extolled  his  generosity  and  good  nature.  They  main- 
tained that  in  those  parts  of  his  conduct  which  they 
could  least  defend  there  was  nothing  sordid,  and  that, 
if  he  was  misled,  he  was  misled  by  amiable  feelings,  by 
a  desire  to  serve  his  friends,  and  by  anxious  tenderness 
for  his  children.  But  by  the  nation  he  was  regarded 
as  a  man  of  insatiable  rapacity  and  desperate  ambition  : 
as  a  man  ready  to  adopt,  without  scruple,  the  most  im- 
moral and  the  most  unconstitutional  manners;  as  a 
man  perfectly  fitted,  lay  all  his  opinions  and  feelings, 
for  the  work  of  managing  the  Parliament  by  means  of 
"jecret-service-money,  and  of  keeping  down  the  people 
wilh  the  bayonet.  Many  of  his  contempoi'aries  had  a 
morality  quite  as  lax  as  his :  but  very  few  among  them 
had  his  talents,  and  none  had  his  hardihood  and  energy, 


LORD   HOLLAND.  417 

He  could  not,  like  Sandys  and  Doddington,  find  safety 
in  contempt.  He  therefore  became  an  object  of  such 
general  aversion  as  no  statesman  since  the  fall  of  Straf 
ford  has  incurred,  of  such  general  aversion  as  was  prob- 
ably never  in  any  country  incurred  by  a  man  of  so 
kind  and  cordial  a  disposition.  A  weak  mind  would 
have  sunk  under  such  a  load  of  unpopularity.  But 
that  resolute  spirit  seemed  to  derive  new  firmness  from 
the  public  hatred.  The  only  effect  which  reproaches 
appeared  to  produce  on  him,  was  to  sour,  in  some  de- 
gree, his  naturally  sweet  temper.  The  last  acts  of  his 
public  life  were  marked,  not  only  by  that  audacity 
which  he  had  derived  from  nature,  not  only  by  that 
immorality  which  he  had  learned  in  the  school  of  Wai- 
pole,  but  by  a  harshness  which  almost  amounted  to 
cruelty,  and  which  had  never  been  supposed  to  belong 
to  his  character.  His  severity  increased  the  unpopu- 
larity from  which  it  had  sprung.  The  well-known 
lampoon  of  Gray  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  feeling 
of  the  country.  All  the  images  are  taken  from  ship- 
wrecks, quicksands,  and  cormorants.  Lord  Holland  is 
represented  as  complaining,  that  the  cowardice  of  his 
accomplices  had  prevented  him  from  putting  down  the 
free  spirit  of  the  city  of  London  by  sword  and  fire,  and 
as  pining  for  the  time  when  birds  of  prey  should  make 
their  nests  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  unclean  beasts 
burrow  in  St.  Paul's. 

Within  a  few  months  after  the  death  of  this  remark- 
able man,  his  second  son  Charles  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  party  opposed  to  the  American  War.  Charles 
had  inherited  the  bodily  and  mental  constitution  of  his 
father,  and  had  been  much,  far  too  much,  under  his 
father's  influence.  It  was  indeed  impossible  that  a  son 
of  so  affectionate  and  noble  a  nature  should  not  have 


418  LORD  HOLLAND. 

been  warmly  attached  to  a  parent  who  possessed  many 
fine  qualities,  and  who  carried  his  indulgence  and  liber- 
ality towards  his  children  even  to  a  culpable  extent. 
Charles  saw  that  the  person  to  whom  he  was  bound  by 
the  strongest  ties  was,  in  the  highest  degree,  odius  to 
the  nation ;  and  the  effect  was  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  strong  passion  and  constitutional 
boldness  of  so  high-spirited  a  youth.  He  cast  in  his  lot 
with  his  father,  and  took,  while  still  a  boy,  a  deep  part 
in  the  most  unjustifiable  and  unpopular  measures  that 
had  been  adopted  since  the  reign  of  James  the  Second. 
In  the  debates  on  the  Middlesex  Election,  he  distin- 
guished himself,  not  only  by  his  precocious  powers  of 
eloquence,  but  by  the  vehement  and  scornful  manner 
in  which  he  bade  defiance  to  public  opinion.  He  was 
at  that  time  regarded  as  a  man  likely  to  be  the  most 
formidable  champion  of  arbitrary  government  that  had 
appeared  since  the  Revolution,  to  be  a  Bute  with  far 
greater  powers,  a  Mansfield  with  far  greater  courage. 
Happily  his  father's  death  liberated  him  early  from  the 
pernicious  influence  by  which  he  had  been  misled 
His  mind  expanded.  His  range  of  observation  became 
wider.  His  genius  broke  through  early  prejudices. 
His  natural  benevolence  and  magnanimity  had  fail 
play.  In  a  very  short  time  he  appeared  in  a  situation 
worthy  of  his  understanding  and  of  his  heart.  From  a 
family  whose  name  was  associated  in  the  public  mind 
with  tyranny  and  corruption,  from  a  party  of  which 
the  theory  and  the  practice  were  equally  servile,  from 
the  midst  of  the  Luttrells,  the  Dysons,  the  Barringtous, 
come  forth  the  greatest  parliamentary  defender  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty. 

The  late  Lord  Holland  succeeded  to  the  talents  and 
So  the  fine  natural  disposition  of  his  House.     But  his 


LORD    HOLLAND. 

situation  was  very  different  from  that  of  the  two  emi- 
nent men  of  whom  we  have  spoken.  In  some  impor- 
tant respects  it  was  better,  and  in  some  it  was  worse 
than  theirs.  He  had  one  great  advantage  over  them. 
I  le  received  a  good  political  education.  The  first  lord 
was  educated  by  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  Mr.  Fox  was 
educated  by  his  father.  The  late  lord  was  educated  by 
Mr.  Fox.  The  pernicious  maxims  early  imbibed  by 
the  first  Lord  Holland,  made  his  great  talents  useless, 
and  worse  than  useless,  to  the  state.  The  pernicious 
maxims  early  imbibed  by  Mr.  Fox  led  him,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  his  public  life,  into  great  faults  which, 
though  afterwards  nobly  expiated,  were  never  forgot- 
ten. To  the  very  end  of  his  career,  small  men,  when 
thev  had  nothing  else  to  say  in  defence  of  their  own 
tyranny,  bigotry,  and  imbecility,  could  always  raise  a 
cheer  by  some  paltry  taunt  about  the  election  of 
Colonel  Luttrell,  the  imprisonment  of  the  lord  mayor, 
and  other  measures  in  which  the  great  Whig  leader 
had  borne  a  part  at  the  age  of  one  or  two  and  twenty. 
On  Lord  Holland  no  such  slur  could  be  thrown.  Those 
wrho  most  rl",-Nsent  from  his  opinions  must  acknowledge 
that  a  public  life  more  consistent  is  not  to  bo  found  in 
our  annals.  Every  part  of  it  is  in  perfect  harmony 
with  every  other  part ;  and  the  whole  is  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  the  great  principles  of  toleration  and  civil 
freedom.  This  rare  felicity  is  in  a  great  measure  to 
be  attributed  to  the  influence  of  Mr.  Fox.  Lord  Hol- 
land, as  was  natural  in  a  person  of  his  talents  and  ex- 
pectations, began  at  a  very  early  age  to  take  the 
keenest  interest  in  politics  ;  ana  Mr.  Fox  found  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  forming  the  mind  of  so  hopeful  a 
pupil.  They  corresponded  largely  on  political  subjects 
when  the  young  lord  was  only  sixteen  ;  and  their 


120  LORD  HOLLAND. 

friendship  and  mutual  confidence  continued  to  the  clay 
of  that  mournful  separation  at  Chiswick.  Under  such 
training  such  a  man  as  Lord  Holland  was  in  no  clan- 
ger of  falling  into  those  faults  which  threw  a  dark 
shade  over  the  whole  career  of  his  grandfather,  and 
from  which  the  youth  of  his  uncle  was  not  wholly 
free. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  late  Lord  Holland,  as  com- 
pared with  his  grandfather  and  his  uncle,  laboured 
under  one  great  disadvantage.  They  were  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  He  became  a  Peer  while 
still  an  infant.  When  he  entered  public  life,  the 
House  of  Lords  was  a  very  small  and  a  very  decorous 
assembly.  The  minority  to  which  he  belonged  was 
scarcely  able  to  muster  five  or  six  votes  on  the  most 
important  nights,  when  eighty  or  ninety  lords  Avere 
present.  Debate  had  accordingly  become  a  mere  form, 
as  it  was  in  the  Irish  House  of  Peers  before  the  Union. 
This  was  a  great  misfortune  to  a  man  like  Lord 
Holland.  It  was  not  by  occasionally  addressing  fifteen 
or  twenty  solemn  and  unfriendly  auditors,  that  his 
grandfather  and  his  uncle  attained  their  unrivalled 
parliamentary  skill.  The  former  had  learned  his  art  in 
"the  great  Walpolean  battles,"  on  nights  when  Ons- 
low  was  in  the  chair  seventeen  hours  without  inter- 
mission, when  the  thick  ranks  on  both  sides  kept 
unbroken  order  till  long  after  the  winter  sun  had  risen 
upon  them,  when  the  blind  were  led  out  by  the  hand 
into  the  lobby  and  the  paralytic  laid  down  in  their 
bed-clothes  on  the  benches.  The  powers  of  Charles 
Fox  were,  from  the  first,  exercised  in  conflicts  not  less 
exciting.  The  great  talents  of  the  late  Lord  Holland 
aad  no  such  advantage.  This  was  the  more  unfortu- 
nate, because  the  peculiar  species  of  eloquence  whicl? 


LORD    HOLLAND. 

belonged  to  him  in  common  with  bis  family  required 
much  practice  to  develope  it.  With  strong  sense,  and 
the  greatest  readiness  of  wit,  a  certain  tendency  to 
hesitation  was  hereditary  in  the  line  of  Fox.  This 
hesitation  arose,  not  from  the  poverty,  hut  from  the 
wealth  of  their  vocabulary.  They  paused,  not  from 
the  difficulty  of  finding  one  expression,  but  from  the 
difficulty  of  choosing  between  several.  It  was  only 
by  slow  degrees  and  constant  exercise  that  the  first 
Lord  Holland  and  his  son  overcame  the  defect.  In- 
deed neither  of  them  overcame  it  completely. 

In  statement,  the  late  Lord  Holland  was  not  suc- 
cessful ;  his  chief  excellence  lay  in  reply.  He  had  the 
quick  eye  of  his  house  for  the  nnso'und  parts  of  an 
argument,  and  a  great  felicity  in  exposing  them.  He 
was  decidedly  more  distinguished  in  debate  than  any 
peer  of  his  time  who  had  not  sat  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  £s~ay,  to  find  his  equal  among  persona 
similarly  situated,  we  must  go  back  eighty  years  to 
Earl  Granville.  For  Mansfield,  Thurlow,  Lough- 
borough,  Grey,  Grenville,  Brougham,  Plunkett,  and 
other  eminent  men,  living  and  dead,  whom  we  will  not 
stop  to  enumerate,  carried  to  the  Upper  House  an 
eloquence  formed  and  matured  in  the  Lower.  The 
opinion  of  the  most  discerning  judges  was  that  Lord 
Holland's  oratorical  performances,  though  sometimes 
most  successful,  afforded  no  fair  measure  of  his  ora- 
torical powers,  and  that,  in  an  assembly  of  which  tho 
debates  were  frequent  and  animated,  he  wouM  have 
att.'iir.ed  a  very  high  order  of  excellence.  It  was, 
indeed,  impossible  to  listen  to  his  conversation  without 
eeeing  that  he  was  born  a  debater.  To  him  ns  to  hia 
ancle,  the  exercise  of  the  mind  in  discussion  Avas  a 
positive  pleasure.  With  the  greatest  good  nature  and 


422  LORD    HOLLAND. 

pood  breeding,  lie  was  the  very  opposite  to  an  asseute/T, 
The  word  "  disputatious"  is  generally  used  as  a  word 
of  reproach ;  but  we  can  express  our  meaning  only -by 
saying  that  Lord  Holland  was  most  courteously  and 
pleasantly  disputatious.  In  truth,  his  quickness  in 
discovering  and  apprehending  distinctions  and  analo- 
gies was  such  as  a  veteran  judge  might  envy.  The 
lawyers  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster  were  astonished  to 
find  in  an  unprofessional  man  so  strong  a  relish  for  the 
esoteric  parts  of  their  science,  and  complained  that  as 
soon  as  they  had  split  ahair,  Lord  Holland  proceeded  to 
pplit  the  filaments  into  filaments  still  finer.  In  a  mind 
less  happily  constituted,  there  might  have  been  a  risk 
that  this  turn  for  subtilty  would  have  produced  serious 
evil.  But  in  the  heart  and  understanding  of  Lord 
Holland  there  was  ample  security  against  all  such 
danger.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be  the  dupe  of  his  own 
ingenuity.  He  put  his  logic  to  its  proper  use ;  and  in 
him  the  dialectician  was  always  subordinate  to  the 
statesman. 

His  political  life  is  written  in  the  chronicles  of  his 
country.  Perhaps,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  his 
opinions  on  two  or  three  great  questions  of  foreign 
policy  were  open  to  just  objection.  Yet  even  his 
errors,  if  he  erred,  were  amiable  and  respectable. 
We  are  not  sure  that  we  do  not  love  and  admire  him 
the  more  because  he  was  now  and  then  seduced  from 
what  we  regard  as  a  wise  policy  by  sympathy  with 
the  oppressed,  by  generosity  towards  the  fallen,  by  a 
philanthropy  so  enlarged  that  it  took  in  all  nations, 
by  love  of  peace,  a  love  which  in  him  was  second 
only  to  the  love  of  freedom,  and  by  the  magnanimous 
credulity  of  a  mind  which  was  as  incapable  of  suspect- 
ing as  of  devising  mischief. 


LORD  HOLLAND.  423 

To  his  views  on  questions  of  domestic  policy  the 
voice  of  his  countrymen  does  ample  justice.  They 
revere  the  memory  of  the  man  who  was,  during  forty 
years,  the  constant  protector  of  all  oppressed  races 
and  persecuted  sects,  of  the  man  whom  neither  tho 
prejudices  nor  the  interests  belonging  to  his  station 
could  seduce  from  the  path  of  right,  of  the  noble,  who 
in  every  great  crisis  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  commons, 
of  the  planter,  who  made  manful  war  on  the  slave 
trade,  of  the  landowner,  whose  whole  heart  was  in  the 
struggle  against  the  corn-laws. 

We  have  hitherto  touched  almost  exclusively  on 
those  parts  of  Lord  Holland's  character  which  were 
open  to  the  observation  of  millions.  How  shall  we 
express  the  feelings  with  which  his  memory  is  cher- 
ished by  those  who  were  honoured  with  his  friend- 
ship ?  Or  in  what  language  shall  we  speak  of  that 
house,  «.nce  celebrated  for  its  rare  attractions  to  the 
furthest  ends  of  the  civilised  world,  and  now  silent 
and  desolate  as  the  grave  ?  To  that  house,  a  hundred 
and  twenty  years  ago,  a  poet  addressed  those  tendei 
and  graceful  lines,  which  have  now  acquired  a  new 
meaning  not  less  sad  than  that  which  they  originally 
bore. 

"  Thou  lull,  whose  brow  the  antique  structures  grace, 
Reared  by  bold  chiefs  of  Warwick's  noble  race, 
Why,  ouce  so  icved,  whene'er  thy  bower  appears, 
O'er  my  dim  eyeballs  glance  the  sudden  tears? 
How  sweet  were  once  thy  prospects  fresli  and  fair, 
Thy  sloping  walks  and  unpolluted  air ! 
How  sweet  the  glooms  beneath  thine  aged  trees, 
Thy  noon- tide  shadow  and  thine  evening  breeze! 
His  image  thy  forsaken  bowers  restore ; 
Thy  walks  and  airy  prospects  charm  no  more; 
No  more  the  summer  in  thy  glooms  allayed, 
Thine  evening  breezes,  and  thy  noon-day  shade." 

Yet  a  few  years,  and  the  shades  and  structures  may 


424  LORD   HOLLAND. 

follow  their  illustrious  masters.     The  wonderful  city 
which,  ancient  and  gigantic  as  it  is,  still  continues  to 
grow  as  fast  as  a  young  town  of  logwood  by  a  water- 
privilege  in  Michigan,  may  soon  displace  those  turrets 
and  gardens  which  are  associated  with  so  much  that 
is  interesting  and  noble,  with  the  courtly  magnificence 
of  Rich,  with  the  loves  of  Ormond,  with  the  counsels 
of  Cromwell,  with  the  death  of  Addison.   frhe  time  is 
coming  when,  perhaps,  a  few  old  men,  the  last  sur- 
vivors of  our  generation,  will  in  vain  seek,  amidst  new- 
streets  and  squares,  and  railway  stations,  for  the  site 
of  that  dwelling  which  was  in  their  youth  the  favourite 
resort  of  wits  and  beauties,  of  painters  and  poets,  of 
scholars,  philosophers,  and  statesmen.    Thevjvill  then 
remember,  with  strange  tenderness,  many  objects  once 
familiar  to  them,  the  avenue  and  the  terrace,  the  busts 
and  the  paintings,  the  carving,  the  grotesque  gilding, 
and  the  enigmatical  mottoes.     With  peculiar  fondness 
they  will  recall  that  venerable  chamber,  in  which  all 
the  antique  gravity  of  a  college  library  was  so  singu- 
larly blended  with  all  that  female  grace  and  wit  could 
devise  to  embellish  a  drawing-room.     Theyjvill  recol- 
lect, not  unmoved,  those  shelves  loaded  with  the  varied 
learning  of  many  lands  and  many  ages,  and  those  por- 
traits in  which  were  preserved  the  features  of  the  best 
and  wisest  Englishmen  of  two  generations.     They  will 
recollect  how  many  men  who  have  guided  the  politics 
uf  Europe,  who  have  moved  great  assemblies  by  reason 
and  eloquence,  who  have  put  life  into  bronze  and  can- 
vas, or  who  have  left  to  posterity  things  so  written  that 
it  shall  not  willingly  let  them  die,  were  there  mixed 
with  all  that  was  loveliest  and  gayest  in  the  society  of 
the  most  splendid  of  capitals.     Thev  will  remember  the 
peculiar  character  which  belonged  to  that~circle,  in 


LORD   HOLLAND.  425 

which  every  talent  and  accomplishment,  every  art  and 
science,  had  its  place.  They  will  remember  hew  the 
last  debate  was  discussed  in  one  corner,  and  the  last 
comedy  of  Scribe  in  another  ;  while  Wilkie  gazed  with 
modest  admiration  on  Sir  Joshua's  Baretti;  while 
Mackintosh  turned  over  Thomas  Aquinas  to  verify  a 
quotation  ;  while  Talleyrand  related  his  conversations 
with  Barras  at  the  Luxembourg,  or  his  ride  with  Lannea 
over  the  field  of  Austerlitz.  They  will  remember, 
above  all,  the  grace,  and  the  kindness,  far  more  admi- 
rable than  grace,  with  which  the  princely  hospitality  of 
that  ancient  mansion  was  dispensed.  They  will  re- 
member the  venerable  and  benignant  countenance  and 
the  cordial  voice  of  him  who  bade  them  welcome. 
They  will  remember  that  temper  which  years  of  pain, 
of  sickness,  of  lameness,  of  confinement,  served  only  to 
make  sweeter  and  sweeter,  and  that  frank  politeness, 
which  at  once  relieved  all  the  embarrassment  of  the 
youngest  and  most  timid  writer  or  artist,  who  found 
himself  for  the  first  time  among  Ambassadors  and  Earls. 
They  will  remember  that  constant  flow  of  conversation, 
so  natural,  so  animated,  so  various,  so  rich  with  ob- 
servation and  anecdote ;  that  wit  which  never  gave  a 
wound ;  that  exquisite  mimicry  which  ennobled,  instead 
of  degrading ;  that  goodness  of  heart  which  appeared 
in  every  look  and  accent,  and  gave  additional  value  to 
every  talent  and  acquirement.  They  will  remember, 
too,  that  he  whose  name  they  hold  in  reverence  was  nofc 
less  distinguished  by  the  inflexible  uprightness  of  hia 
political  conduct  than  by  his  loving  disposition  and  his 
winning  manners.  They  will  remember  that,  in  the 
last  lines  which  he  traced,  he  expressed  his  joy  that  he 
had  done  nothing  unworthy  of  the  friend  of  Fox  and 


426  LORD  HOLLAND. 

Grey ;  and  they  will  hare  reason  to  feel  similar  joy,  if 
in  looking  back  on  many  troubleu  years,  they  cannot 
accuse  themselves  of  having  done  any  thing  unworthy 
of  men  who  were  distinguished  by  the  friendship  of 
Lord  Holland. 


BHD  or  VOL.  iv. 


JC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRA  Y   ACLTY 


AA    000677509    2 


•ii 


